Don't Go Without Me
by KnucklePuck29
Summary: Cato is cocky and unfeeling, a brutal boy with a vicious temper, but she sees something else in him. There's another side, a side that doesn't show in the Games, that intrigues her. Cato/OC, pre-Games.
1. C'est la Vie

**Hello! This is my first crack at a Hunger Games fanfic, and I just HAD to explore the enigma that is Cato. Why is he so cold? This is my interpretation.**

**I really love reviews, especially the constructive kind, so please be amazing and leave me a few! That way I can decide whether to upload the next chapter.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games or Cato, just the characters you don't recognize and my interpretation of the Academy.**

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The small, soundproofed room glinted with the reflections of dozens of blades. Trainees from all over District 2 stood in lines across the floor, each carrying a sword and wearing terrifying expressions. They stared at the front of the room, where instructors stood with their hands behind their backs and glared out at their students. The only sound was the quiet release of breath.

The lines were staggered by age, ability, and readiness for the Games. The oldest, most proficient trainees stood closest to the instructors, their heavily muscled bodies spaced an even six inches apart. There were twelve boys in this line, their arms bulging and their mouths twisted into vicious smirks. The girls numbered fewer, only five, and had lithe, agile frames that looked so small in comparison to the boys' towering forms.

In preparation for the 72nd Reaping, the instructors had gathered the group of elite trainees for a briefing session. They would inform them of their plans for the final weeks of training, as well as give out the rankings. The highest ranked boy and girl would be given the opportunity to volunteer for the Games and bring glory to their families and their District.

After the mundane task of handing out training schedules was complete, the head instructor stepped to the front with a small digitized notepad. His dark eyebrows were shot through with grey, and one of them had been sliced with some wicked knife many years ago. He was more intimidating than any other instructor, given his propensity for violence and punishment.

"In the eighteen-year-old division," he began, not bothering to clear his throat or even announce what he was reading, "we have Julius and Talia."

The two tributes in the front row grinned, eyes gleaming in a feral manner as they looked at each other briefly. They exchanged a glance of malicious happiness, the closest anyone in the room would come to laughing with joy.

"For the seventeen-year-olds, the leaders are Jacob and Laine." The instructor didn't pause for backslapping or congratulations. "Sixteen-year-olds, Cato and Natalie."

Cato couldn't contain his smirk, barely managing to stop himself from turning to gloat. He had been fighting for two years to secure a top position in his age group, slowly cutting down one bit of competition after another. This moment was his crowning glory, to that point, and he wanted to revel in it.

As the rest of the rankings were read, Cato ran an inner monologue, trying to decide how to tell his parents the good news. His father was a quarryman without much hope in life other than his son's future as a Victor. He had trained him from a young age, even before the Academy began accepting students, and forced him to become brutal. Because of his father, Cato was already a killing machine by the time he was ten.

The tall blond almost missed it when the assembly was dismissed, but he managed to depart with the rest of his row without needing a poke in the ribs. The trainees filed into the hallway with strict precision, holding their swords across their chests in a sign of respect for their instructors. Once they were in the next building, they were able to relax.

"Congratulations!" Jacob called, moving over to Cato and thumping him on the back. Cato tried not to appear jarred by the crushing blow from the older boy, but he couldn't stifle a grunt.

"You too," Cato replied, turning his noise of protest into a cough. "Been a long road, huh?"

The boys laughed, sharing a secret joke. Everyone knew that Jacob had always been at the top of his age division, what with his startlingly imposing physique and deadly accuracy with every weapon he was presented with. He was almost guaranteed a house in the Victor's Village, and he'd already picked one out. Cato, on the other hand, had had a little more trouble with his ascent.

The entire group of trainees moved to the dining hall for their lunch period. It was a good day when no fights broke out in line or at the tables, and an even better day when none of the instructors had to be called in.

Cato strolled casually through the line, allowing the nutritionists to sample his blood and then dole out the proper meal. Today, apparently, he needed more protein and Vitamin C because he got a larger portion of meat than usual and an extra helping of dried oranges. He scowled at the orange slices, knowing he would have to eat them but hating the prospect.

"Buck up, youngblood," Jacob chuckled, moving off with his tray of high-protein granola and other assorted healthy items.

"Fuck you," Cato snapped good-naturedly, settling at their usual table.

Cato, Jacob, Natalie, Talia, and four other trainees always sat together for the daily meal. It had been ten of them, but two had graduated from the Academy and only one had come back from their Games. Kellan had gone in as a seventeen-year-old, the first one to do so in a long time, and as a result of his cocky attitude he had gotten his head chopped off in the Bloodbath.

Natalie smiled at Cato with her usual bubbly demeanor, but he saw past her pink cheeks and pale blue eyes. She was brutal, maybe more so than himself, and she wasn't to be trifled with. He gave her a quick nod, sharing the silent communion of two people who realized they may or may not be killing each other in a matter of years.

The trainees ate in silence, shoveling in food at the pace set by the Academy for optimum digestion. When they were released for afternoon training, everyone rose at the same time and cleared their trays with the same movements. Cato was the only deviation, looking over his shoulder to get a glimpse out the window.

Darkening with a coming storm, the sky looked like a whirl of coal dust. A fork of lightning split just ten miles away, judging by the space of time between the flash and the bang. Cato counted, just to be sure, and felt satisfied when the thunder shook the building.

He enjoyed storms, even when he was inside the training center. The sensation of thunder rolling up through your feet and humming along your arms was much like an adrenaline rush. The raw power of a storm fascinated him, and he wanted to be like a storm in the arena when he took part in the Games. His instructors would have disagreed, telling him to be disciplined and calm, but he still imagined.

Inside the training center, Cato moved over to the obstacle course with about twenty other trainees. The course consisted of a rock wall with a rope on the back for repelling down, a large tire that the trainees would have to flip down and back a total of thirty feet, a puzzle that needed quick solving, and a twenty-five foot pool that they had to swim in under forty-five seconds. He had done it many times, but they kept changing the puzzles and putting the handholds of the wall in different places. If he had thought about it for very long, he would have found it all very monotonous.

"Go!" the instructor at the station cried, kicking Cato into gear. He ran the course with a girl named Azalea, though he usually ran it with Natalie. As he scaled the rock wall, he thought absently about how stupid her name was. He bet her parents hated her, that they had wanted a boy or something. Why else would they name her Azalea?

She kept pace with him up the wall, though; he would give her that. Her hands were sure, keeping her moving at a steady clip, and her feet were bending easily around the holds. However, Cato saw her swallow hard at the top of the wall.

Her seconds of hesitation would cost her in the rankings, but Cato could see her steel herself for the descent. If he had been a different person, from a different family perhaps, he would have encouraged her. In light of what he was, which happened to be a vicious competitor, he took advantage of her pause and leapt down the wall faster than normal.

Azalea's hazel eyes followed him down, narrowing in determination. She decided that she would catch him, and soon. Her feet struck the wall with light bounces, carrying her closer to the floor with each tap of the rubber sole. She breathed a sigh of relief when she was down and running, off to the tire station.

Cato was already there, dropping into a squat for the second flip of the tire. She settled in beside him, moving her smaller tire with a strange ease. It was as if the adrenaline had kicked in and made her insanely strong, though she knew that wasn't true. She had never been the strongest, not even after years of weight training. She would always be the average one, the girl with the flowery name and the inability to crush someone's head with her arms.

Cato looked over at the girl next to him, screwing up his face with the effort of pushing his tire the last few feet before hopping through it to turn around. This girl, this _Azalea_, was catching up. He thought she'd be done at the wall, with her obvious fear of heights, but here she was. If he'd had time, he would have been slightly impressed.

The two trainees worked in near tandem until their tires were back at the starting point. Both seemed to need a break, but neither was willing to give the other any sort of advantage. They rushed over to the puzzles, turning their backs on one another and trying to shake the jitters out of their overused limbs in order to work the pieces.

Azalea concentrated, rubbing her twitching right bicep as she worked out the problem in her mind. Once she'd figured it out, she quickly slid the pieces into place and watched as the last one clicked in satisfyingly.

Thinking she'd have the advantage, she began sprinting to the pool. The cool water would feel nice on her sore body.

As she prepared to launch herself in, Cato flew past her in a devastatingly perfect dive. She rushed in after him, becoming frantic, and pushed with everything she had for the far end of the water. Her arms and legs cramped, her lungs burned, and her eyes streamed from the chlorine, but she managed to keep going until she reached the edge.

A hand stuck down into her face, open and calloused, and waited patiently. She knocked her head against the concrete softly, breathing harder than she ever had in her life. Finally, after a few moments of scolding herself, she grasped the offered hand and allowed herself to be pulled out of the water.

Cato looked down at this soaking wet girl, the one who had come the closest of any girl _ever_ to beating him, and felt a grudging admiration. Her hand was small in his, and more fragile than he was used to. All the girls at the Academy had rough hands from handling the weapons and getting hurt, but this girl had managed to keep hers fairly smooth.

"Thanks," Azalea muttered quietly, still breathing rather hard. Her body shook so badly from exertion and adrenaline that she thought she might fall over, but Cato's hand kept her grounded.

Cato opened his mouth to say something, _anything_ really, but was cut off by the instructor.

"Good race, Azalea." His face hardened as he turned to look at Cato. "Next time, Cato, I expect you to try a little harder. This little girl almost beat you."

Azalea reeled from the double-edged compliment, feeling like she had been slapped. She yanked her hand out of Cato's, forgetting for a moment that the large blond boy had been about to speak to her, and started after the instructor. He had a lot of nerve, being that sexist right in front of her.

"Where do you think you're going?" Cato asked sharply, cutting through her murderous thoughts. "You'd be kicked out so fast your head would spin."

"At least I'd have the satisfaction of knowing that I was instrumental in his castration," Azalea replied, turning to face him.

Cato let out a barking laugh, surprised by her eagerness to assault an instructor, even if it was Thaddeus. Everyone wanted to kill Thaddeus, including the other instructors. Azalea, however, had gotten the reputation of being a bit of a pacifist.

_Guess we were all wrong_, he thought, smirking to himself.

Azalea crossed her arms, content to observe Cato for a few moments. His hair dripped into his face, longer than it appeared normally, and his shirt stuck to his chest. He was massive, bigger than any sixteen-year-old had a right to be, and Azalea realized just how mismatched they had been. She was used to training with the other average trainees, not the top of the age division. Even with all the physical presence, he was different than she'd thought. Though his face often remained impassive, his eyes danced with mischief and amusement.

"Like what you see?" Cato asked, tilting his head back slightly to make himself look more impressive.

Azalea scoffed, grinning in spite of herself. "Please. Instead of preening, how about you teach me that dive? It was pretty amazing."

"I think I can do that," he said, smiling back at her.

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**Reviews are lovely! Especially since this is the first chapter.**


	2. Deep Until You Drown

**Here's chapter two! There wasn't much of a response to the first one, but I'm really enjoying writing this. Thanks to those who read, favorited, and reviewed! It means a lot!**

**So here we go. We get to meet Azalea's father and sister in this chapter, as well as find out a little more about Cato. Hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with The Hunger Games! That honor goes to Suzanne Collins, the genius herself.**

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Two weeks later, Azalea stood at the edge of a large cliff at one of the rock quarries in District 2. Her father worked there, down in the granite and the dust and the misery. She had seen him work day after day, toiling beneath the hot sun and earning a meager living for his family. She came here often after school, waiting at the camp at the top of the canyon until he was finished for the day.

Today, though, she managed to bring herself to look over the cliff. It was a huge drop, probably thirty stories high, and it made her stomach turn and rise into her throat just to think about falling. Heights were her one fear, the one thing she just couldn't seem to get over. Her father chided her for it, reminding her that all she had to do was try not to fall, but nothing helped.

Easing herself down, Azalea pulled her knees to her chest and rested her chin on them. If she didn't look down, the view was really quite lovely. She could almost see the Capitol, with its gleaming buildings and colorful people. As it was, District 2 wasn't really that far away, just a day's journey by high-speed train, or so they said on the commentary for the games.

As she looked out at the mountains, she pulled one of the many knives she carried out of her boot. Her fingers automatically began twirling it, alternating throwing and stabbing grips. She liked the weight of this particular blade, knew how hard she would need to throw it for any target. It was comforting, especially when her heart was pounding out of her chest.

"What are you doing up here?" someone asked behind her, scaring her a little. No one had ever bothered her before, but she supposed she could get in trouble for being so close to the edge.

Turning to explain, she saw Cato standing a few yards away from her with his arms folded over his chest. He was smirking slightly, trying to hold in a grin that threatened to erupt.

"I thought you were a site manager!" Azalea exclaimed, throwing a stray pebble at him. "What on earth are _you_ doing here?"

"I asked first," he said, coming to sit beside her.

She grinned, looking back out over the mountains and stabbing the knife into the gritty soil. "My father works here and I meet him every day with food. We walk home together."

"That sounds…cozy." Cato frowned, wondering if his father had ever wanted his company. There had never been any evidence of camaraderie, that was for sure. The most he got was a grunt when he came through the door and a smack on the back of his head when he said anything out of turn.

"Shut up," Azalea laughed. "So what about you, Cato? Does your father work here, too?"

"No, but my older brother does. My father is in the next quarry, run by Martins." Cato's brows drew together, indicating that he would like to change subjects. "How can you even sit up here?"

Azalea paused, wondering at his intentions. "What do you mean?"

"I know you're scared of heights. That day on the rock wall, you nearly stopped at the top and wouldn't come down." Cato kicked some sand over the edge of the cliff, ignoring the cries that rose up a few seconds later. "Doesn't this freak you out?"

"A little," she admitted, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. His face was cast in the orange glow of the sunset, all sharp angles and burning eyes. If she didn't know him to be occasionally cruel and constantly annoying, she might have thought he was handsome. "This is the first time I've been this close to the edge. Well, the first time since I was very young."

"What happened?" Cato asked, realizing that her voice had dropped off.

"You don't want to hear that story." She smiled, seeing that he was watching her. "It isn't a very pleasant anecdote. I've just met you, really, and I wouldn't want to scare you away."

"Did you really just imply that you could scare me?" Cato was partially joking, but he did get a flash of anger at his constitution being questioned. He reined it in, knowing that he would get nowhere with this girl acting like a prick.

"Maybe. I am carrying a knife, after all." Azalea laughed loudly, and it echoed in the quarry below. A few men looked up from their work and, seeing the two sitting together at the top of the cliff, made catcalls. "Did I wound your pride?"

"A little girl like you?" He smirked, unable to keep himself from mocking Thaddeus's words. "If you wounded me, I should just throw myself into the Hunger Games now. Make a fitting sacrifice on the altar of pussies."

"Wow, you're crass," Azalea commented, raising an eyebrow. "Do you talk to your mother with that mouth?"

"Occasionally, but not much." He leaned back on his elbows, staring up into the sky. "How long do you usually wait here?"

"I wait as long as I have to. Why have I never seen you here before?"

Cato hesitated, wondering just how much he was willing to share with this girl. He'd promised to teach her a dive, but what else? There was no point getting attached to anyone; that had been made clear when his best friend from childhood had been thrown off a cliff very similar to the one on which he was sitting. Oh, it had looked like an accident, but Cato knew that it had been the boy's father.

"I haven't talked to my brother in a while. He left the family a few years ago, just before he was supposed to go into the Games. My parents won't let us see him."

"That's awful. Family is the only thing we have in this place besides rocks and Reapings," Azalea said, shaking her head. "Not that I get along with all of my family, either. My sister is a chore. Sorry."

"It's fine," Cato said gruffly, trying to regain his tough demeanor. It wouldn't do for anyone his age to see him as weak, especially the girl who nearly beat him. "When am I going to teach you that dive you admired so much?"

"Whenever you want to, I guess." Azalea watched him closing off, watched his eyes dull beneath the setting sun, and felt bad for saying something that made him upset.

"How about I teach you now? I was just about to head over to the training center anyway." He stood, brushing the dust off his pants before offering her a hand.

"Why are you going back? We got out not three hours ago." Azalea let him lift her up, vaguely noticing how easily he handled her weight. "Are you a masochist?"

"Sometimes," Cato muttered, not intending for her to hear. To her, he said, "I like to put in a few more hours after dinner. Weights and swimming, mostly."

"Okay, but don't expect me to start joining you on a regular basis. I'm firmly in the middle of the pack at the Academy, and I'd prefer to keep it that way." Azalea laughed, taking her hand back and putting it in the pocket of her dark brown pants. "I won't let you corrupt me, Cato."

"Wouldn't dream of trying," he said, setting off toward the office and the shuttle stop that sat in front of the short building.

"Let me just leave word with the front desk," Azalea said, jogging on ahead with a quick glance back. "My dad would get worried if I wasn't here when he got back."

Cato watched her run off, auburn hair flying free of its usual ponytail, and knew deep down that he'd started something that would end poorly for the both of them. She was too spunky, too refreshing to forget. The way her eyes glittered intelligently and her habit of threading knives through her thin fingers intrigued him. He often found himself seeking her out in the training center during lessons, though he never spoke to her.

Natalie, his training partner, had begun commenting on his distracted state during practice. She would give him an extra hard blow to the shoulder with her wooden sword, glaring until he shook his head and focused. Her sharp eyes missed nothing, and he was sure she saw him looking at Azalea. She never said anything to him, but he knew she thought he was going soft instead of hardening into a soldier.

By the time he reached the main offices, Azalea was smiling at the woman at the desk and coming out to meet him. He let a small grin dance around his lips for a few moments before reining it in and turning it into a twisted smirk. If he didn't start exercising self-control now he was done for.

"Ready?"

"Only if you are!" Azalea gave him a winning smile and went over to sit on the bench at the shuttle stop.

After they had reached the training center and put on their swimsuits, the two trainees stood at the edge of the pool. The lights were low in the gym due to the late hour, but Cato's connection in the Academy offices had remembered to leave the pool lights on. The water cast odd shadows and threw ribbons of light across their faces, giving them both a strange otherworldliness.

"Should I show you first and then start teaching?" Cato asked, eager to get into the water.

"Sure, that sounds fine," Azalea replied, shivering a little in the cool air of the gym.

Cato gestured for her to step back, and then retreated about four yards from the side of the pool. Without warning, he took off running and leapt into the air in a perfect arc. His arms came together over his head, hands forming a point in front of him, and he slipped effortlessly into the water with such a small splash that no water sloshed into the drains.

When he came up for air in the middle of the pool, Azalea clapped and laughed as he gave a little bow. She knew she was only feeding his ego, but it really was a spectacular display of athleticism. She could tell that he spent many hours in the pool outside of training, and she was more than a little envious of his ease in the water.

"Finished showing off?" she asked playfully, planting her hands on her hips. "I thought you were going to teach me!"

"You said you wanted to see it again!" he called, swimming over and splashing at her.

Azalea leapt away, managing to avoid the chilly water, and rubbed at her arms. "Come on, I'm cold! Let's get this show on the road, Instructor Cato."

He pulled himself out of the pool easily, muscles bulging in his arms and chest, and water streamed off him in torrents. Bathing suit clinging to his strong thighs, he looked like a god come down to earth especially to teach Azalea.

"Okay, so the first step is getting your takeoff right," he said, shaking his head and spraying water everywhere. Cato grinned when he saw he'd gotten her a little wet, shaping his hair with one hand.

"Where do I push off?" Azalea asked, walking the path he'd taken to dive. "Here?"

"I'm a little taller, so maybe you should wait another step," he advised, moving her to another spot just a foot closer. "Pretend there's an X there and jump when your foot touches it. You have to use both feet, though, so don't half-ass it."

Azalea nodded, calculating the time it would take her to reach her takeoff point. It didn't look too complicated, though she supposed that was because Cato had been doing it for a long time.

"Then what?" She turned to look at him, blinking her large hazel eyes.

"Keep your body pretty straight and raise your arms over your head before you cross the side of the pool." He did a walkthrough to demonstrate, stopping at the imaginary X and then throwing up his arms when he reached the edge. "Think you can try?"

"We'll see," she said wryly, figuring her first few tries would be miserable. It would be embarrassing to have Cato witness her humiliation, but she would have to endure it to master this dive.

Stepping back a few yards, she took a deep breath and crossed her fingers for luck. With a little squeak, she set off running and concentrated on jumping at the imaginary X by the drain. Her arms barely got over her head in time, slipping through the water slightly separated and allowing some water to slap her in the face. She swam for a moment, relishing the fact that she hadn't slammed any part of her body into the concrete siding of the pool.

When she resurfaced, Azalea blinked and wiped some hair out of her face. She could hear no laughter, which she took as a good sign. As she looked around, though, Cato was nowhere to be found. She treaded water for a few moments, searching for him in the dim corners of the room.

"Boo," Cato said next to her ear, causing her to scream and whirl around. He grinned, white teeth gleaming in the low light, and couldn't help but laugh at his own joke.

"You ass!" she exclaimed, aiming a punch at his shoulder. She meant to pull it, but she didn't rein in her strength in time. He rubbed at the spot and she knew that it would bruise. "Don't you ever do that to me again!"

"I can't promise anything," he chuckled, holding up his hands in surrender. His arm was still throbbing, but he wouldn't let her know that. Sobering, he looked her in the face. "That was a great first try, by the way."

"Really?" she asked quietly, all thoughts of anger dissipating with the relief of not having made a fool out of herself. "It felt a little sloppy."

Cato hesitated for a moment, alternating between telling her the truth and lying to see her face light up again. Deciding to go with truth, he set about telling her what was wrong.

"I think you should push a little harder on your takeoff. If you don't get yourself up higher, you'll never have the time to get your arms right. They were almost there, but you didn't get your hands together."

Azalea nodded, swimming over to the edge and preparing for another try.

A dozen or more dives later, Azalea hung on the edge of the pool, breathing hard. Cato sat with his legs dangling into the water, kicking slightly and whistling a tune under his breath.

"How are you not tired?" Azalea asked, having watched him lift weights and do sprints while she attempted to copy his perfect dive.

"I actually try at the Academy instead of relying on what God gave me," he replied evenly, quirking one side of his mouth. "It's called endurance, baby."

"Don't ever call me that again," she ordered, leveling a glare at him that was only half-serious. "It's almost as bad as 'little girl.'"

"You're not very tall," Cato pointed out. "Maybe you should look into extra running."

"That won't make me any taller."

"No, but it'll cut down on the time you spend with your lungs collapsing in on themselves." He pulled his legs out of the water and stood, walking over to the benches along the wall.

Azalea pulled herself out of the pool and joined him, taking the towel he handed her and wringing out her hair. Looking at the clock, she let out a small noise of disbelief. Cato looked down at her, wondering what had her so worked up.

"It's so late! I need to get home; my dad will be so worried!" She started running to the locker rooms, leaving a bewildered Cato to stare after her.

Once he'd toweled off, he walked slowly to the boys' locker room and changed back into his clothes. It was odd to have to worry about what your parents thought, considering that his never minded if he spent a few extra hours at the gym. They wanted him out of the house as much as possible, and if it would help him win the Games, all the better.

Cato nearly crashed into Azalea as he was coming out of the locker room, not expecting her to rocket toward the door of the gym.

"Thanks for teaching me, but I have to go!" she called over her shoulder, careening around a few pieces of equipment.

"Why don't I walk you home?" he offered, the words flying from his mouth before he could even think them through. "Maybe I can explain to your father."

Azalea paused, her hand resting on the bar of the door. A slow smile crept across her face, her heart slamming inexplicably against her ribs.

"Yeah, that would be nice. Thank you." She waited for him to join her, then pushed open the door and stepped out into the cool night air.

They walked in silence, down the road from the Academy and into the residential zone. The nicer houses were closest to town, but Azalea didn't have far to go. Her father could only afford a house in the quarrymen's area, which basically amounted to a long row of dilapidated four room houses. The neighborhood wasn't great, but the people were very kind. Everyone knew how hard life was as a quarryman.

Cato was slightly surprised to see that Azalea had lived a mere fifteen houses away from him their entire lives. He knew their parents knew each other, but they had never forced the children to meet. Their only interaction before the race was a mere moment five years earlier, in the halls of the regular school. Azalea had brushed by Cato, running to class, and he had yelled at her for hitting him. She hadn't seemed fazed, merely stared at him for a few moments before taking off.

He had resented her for a while for defying him, but eventually he had pushed the event to the back of his mind. Now, though, the memory almost made him smile. She was just the same, just as defiant and radiant as she had been then; he was just starting to notice it.

As they walked up to the front of the house, the door was thrown open and a thin, dark-haired girl stood with her feet shoulder-width apart. A murderous expression was on her face, directed right at Cato, and she moved out onto the porch before they could mount the steps.

"What the hell are you doing here?" the girl snapped. "Why are you with my sister?"

"Language!" Azalea exclaimed, ignoring the fact that she had used worse words on Cato earlier. "What is wrong with you?"

"You're with this prick, _that's_ what's wrong." The girl crossed her arms, freckles standing out starkly against her pale complexion.

"Hey, you're Clove, right?" Cato interrupted, leaning against the railing beside him. "Top of the fourteen-year-old division, I think. I knew I recognized you. You're so…short."

"Fuck you; I could still take you in a fight." Clove whipped a knife out of her sleeve, pointing it at him. "Don't try anything funny with my sister, okay?"

Cato chuckled, unable to help himself. He had seen this girl fight in matches before and knew what she could do, but it was still so _funny_. She was even shorter than Azalea, which meant somewhere around five-four, and her body was very small. The idea that she could do anything to hurt him was just laughable.

"Don't laugh at her, Cato," Azalea admonished. "She probably could hurt you. Even with her dirty mouth."

Clove wrinkled her nose at her sister, not taking her eyes off the reclining blond boy at the foot of the stairs. Everyone knew what a sadistic bastard he was, even Azalea. How on earth she could stand to be next to him Clove didn't know.

"Put the knife away," Azalea instructed, climbing up to the house and wrenching the blade from the smaller girl's hand. "Dad told you: No weapons in the house."

"I'm outside," Clove retorted, grabbing for the knife.

Azalea held it over her head, watching her sister jump for it. "Come on, get inside or I'll call for Daddy. He'll get his belt."

Clove glared, retreating into the warmly-lit house and stomping off to the room they shared.

"Sorry about that," Azalea said, pocketing the knife and turning back to Cato. "You really shouldn't bait her, though. She's got more bloodlust than a hunting dog."

"She's just so…"

"Say 'little' and I'll stick you myself." Azalea jerked her head toward the house. "Are you coming inside?"

"How are you two related?" Cato asked with a grin, taking the steps two at a time and following Azalea into the small house.

"Dad!" Azalea called. "I'm home. Cato from the Academy is here."

"I wondered where you'd got off to," her father said, coming out of the kitchen with a broad smile on his weathered face. "Atia at the offices gave me your message, but I didn't think you'd be gone through dinner."

"I'm sorry, but we lost track of time. I'm Cato." Stepping up to shake Titus's hand, Cato was taken aback by the man's strong grip. "I was teaching Azalea a dive back at the Academy."

"I meant to be back for dinner," Azalea chimed in, watching as her father finally withdrew his hand and sized up the tall boy.

"I know your parents well," Titus said finally, putting his hands in his pockets. "We met them the year after your brother was born. Good boy, that Marcus."

Cato's smile tightened slightly at the mention of his brother, but he maintained his composure. He needed Titus to like him, to _trust_ him, if he wanted to keep spending time with Azalea outside of school. He wanted to keep training with her, to see how far she could really come if she tried. Maybe, if she was good enough, she could beat Natalie for the top spot in their year.

"Well," Cato said after a few moments, "I should probably go. I just wanted to walk Azalea home."

"Thanks," she said quietly, giving him a smile behind her father's shoulder. "I'll see you at school tomorrow."

"Yeah, see you there." Cato flexed his fingers nervously. "It was nice meeting you, sir."

"Good meeting you too, son." Titus gave him a tight smile, nodding before turning back to the interior of the house.

Azalea walked him to the door, barely containing the fit of laughter that threatened to bubble up in her throat. The look on his face when her father had squeezed his hand had been priceless. If only she could come home with a new boy every day.

"See you," she said, waving as he stepped off the porch.

"Goodnight," he answered, making a face as she let loose a quiet bout of giggles. She shut the door, still laughing, and turned to go to her room.

Clove was sitting up on her bed, a whetstone and an arsenal of different types of knives laid out before her. When Azalea walked in, she looked up and narrowed her eyes at her big sister.

"You're stupid," she said, picking up a knife and beginning the process of sharpening it.

"Oh, thanks," Azalea shot back, taking the stolen blade from her pocket and tossing it down on the bed. "You're welcome for not telling Dad how awful you were, by the way."

"Shut up. Do you really think he wants you hanging out with Cato?" Clove tested the knife's point on her finger, frowning when it drew no blood. "That's not who he wants you to be friends with."

"But I should hang out with you, my murderous little sister who thinks steel is more interesting than dolls? I think I'm safer around Cato than I've ever been in this room with you."

"If you believe that then you're dumber than I thought." Clove whipped the knife toward Azalea, smirking when it hit the wall beside her head. Wisps of Azalea's auburn hair floated to the floor slowly, cut cleanly by the knife.

"Stay out of my business, Clove. I mean it." Azalea pulled the knife out of the wood and threw it, hard, into her sister's headboard. "I taught you how to use these. If you aren't careful, I'll teach you what real pain feels like."

* * *

**Thanks so much for reading! Do me a big favor and review? I'd like to know how I'm doing. Hope you enjoyed!**


	3. Birds of a Feather

**Hello! Sorry this has taken a while, but I had an English essay to write and an arduous trip to D.C. to get through. Hopefully this will be worth it, though. Fight scenes are not really my forte, but I think this one worked out well. Let me know, though, because constructive criticism is the BEST kind of criticism!**

**Also, before I go, thanks to anonymous reviewer _clato_. I'm glad you like the story, and I hope you continue reading! Thanks to those who alerted and favorited as well :)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games, as much as I might wish that I did! Suzanne Collins is fabulous!**

**By the way, sorry for the confusion. I forgot to add the breaks between the sections!**

* * *

The next morning dawned bright and hazy, lines of heat dancing in the streets like revelers at a festival. Azalea groaned as she got out of bed, putting a hand to her head and wishing they could afford air conditioning like the Academy. Her back ached from sleeping in an awkward position, but she pushed it from her mind as she realized what day it was.

Fridays were sparring days at the Academy, the one day of the week that the students were allowed to use real weapons on each other. This was the day tributes were born and trainees were snuffed out like so many candles. It had always been Clove's favorite day, but not Azalea's.

The only thing that kept her from becoming nauseous was the thought of seeing Cato again. His wry smirks had embedded themselves in her brain, unwilling to let her sleep peacefully. She could imagine him skewering her just as easily as befriending her. There was really no telling with Cato, given his famous mood swings and punishing temper.

Shaking thoughts of the blond monster out of her head, Azalea reached over and shook her sister awake. Clove jumped, hand sliding to the knife she kept by her bed, and glared at Azalea.

"It's fighting day," Azalea said tersely, narrowing her eyes. "Better get a move on."

The girls dressed quickly, finding their most comfortable gear and making sure their hair was braided tightly against their heads. Girls at the Academy were allowed long hair, but they had to keep it up when fighting. Ponytails were disadvantages, as they gave an opponent something to grab onto and slowed you down.

Once they had finished in their room, the girls ate breakfast in silence, occasionally shooting glares across the table when Titus wasn't looking. Azalea was still mad at Clove's display the night before, and Clove was seething from Azalea's threat. It was commonplace for them to fight, even fairly normal for them to come to blows, but most of the arguments were over by the next day.

After cleaning her plate, Azalea checked the clock and muttered a quick curse. If they didn't leave within the next few seconds, they ran the risk of being late. The last girl to be late for sparring day had been beaten nearly senseless by the head instructor. He had taken a wooden sword to her, bruising her back and face until the whole room shouted a protest. The girl dropped out of the Academy days later, appearing at the front offices with eyes so swollen it was a wonder she could see to walk.

"We've got to go," Azalea said, kissing her father on the cheek. "Come on, Clove."

"Calm down," Clove snapped, finishing her bacon before dumping her plate unceremoniously into the sink. "It's not like you'll win anything."

Azalea made a face, clearly not amused. The girls spared a moment more for glaring before taking off running.

"Don't kill each other," Titus shouted after them, watching his daughters sprint out the door with a twinkle in his eye. "I don't need the headache."

* * *

Azalea and Clove arrived at the Academy only slightly out of breath. The doors were still propped open, indicating that the day had yet to start. They breathed sighs of relief, glad they wouldn't suffer any punishment.

"See you in the ring," Clove said ominously, raising her eyebrow and taking off through the building.

Azalea rolled her eyes, following at a more leisurely pace. Other trainees swarmed around her, pushing her gently in the direction of the gym. Today, the floor would be cleared out and a mat would be placed in the center. A large ring would dominate the space, painted on the mat in red. Weapons would be laid out on tables at the edges of the room, waiting for the instructors to select them for each bout.

Cato spotted Azalea the second she stepped into the gym. He was talking to Jacob and Talia, but he paused, wondering if he should call Azalea over to join them. Her eyes flickered around the room, looking for someone, and her fingers clenched anxiously.

"Hello?" Talia snapped, pinching Cato on the arm. "You asked me a question. Don't you think you should wait to hear the answer before zoning out?"

He grinned easily, covering up his distractedness with his fatal charm. "Maybe you shouldn't bore me so much."

Talia narrowed her eyes at him, used to his cocky attitude. "You're lucky we're not going into the Games together. I would kill you so fast."

"You would try," Jacob laughed, dodging a swift slap. "Oh, come on. You'll be lucky to outlast Julius this year. You've got, what, four more weeks to live?"

"Fuck you, Jacob," Talia snarled, flouncing off to join her tribute partner. It would officially be decided after the bouts who would enter the 72nd Reaping, but everyone knew who it would be.

"You're an ass," Cato laughed, throwing a punch at Jacob and pulling it at the last second. "She won't talk to you for the rest of the month."

"Oh, like she could resist." Jacob flexed, showing off his toned arms. "Besides, the Reaping is in two weeks. She'll have to talk to me then."

"I wouldn't bet on it."

"Trainees, gather round!" the head instructor, Romulus, called.

Cato joined the other students who formed a circle around the center ring, crossing his arms and waiting for the instructor to call out the match pairings.

"We'll be doing co-ed matches within the age divisions today," Romulus said, staring down at his digitized notepad. "Eighteen-year-olds report to me, seventeen to August, sixteen to Thaddeus, fifteen to Chalia, fourteen to Nicodemus, thirteen to Marius, and twelve go to Isabel."

Cato rolled his eyes, wondering how long Thaddeus would blather on before giving them their pairings. He would likely give a speech about honor and strength, as he was wont to do, and then regale them with the tale of his great-grandfather, who was one of the very first Victors.

Seeing Azalea fall into line, Cato slipped in behind her and tapped her shoulder.

"Hey," she said, smiling up at him. "Are you ready to fight to the death?"

"Don't I look ready?" he asked, standing taller and puffing out his chest. "There you go again, questioning my abilities."

"Oh, believe me, I wouldn't dream of doing that." Azalea laughed quietly, watching Thaddeus droning on in front of his captive audience. "So how do you like my sister? She's a joy to behold."

"I'm not sure how she's in the Academy; she hasn't got a mean bone in her body." Cato smirked, glancing over at the slight figure in the fourteen-year-old line. Her dark hair stood out among the blonds and redheads, making her even more conspicuous than the knife handle that stuck out of her braid.

"Well that's an understatement." Azalea followed his gaze, watching as Clove threw a boy down because he tried to cut her in line. "She gets it from my father, though you wouldn't see it to look at him."

"Oh?" Cato asked politely, not mentioning the slight bruising on his right hand from the handshake of the previous night.

"He was trained at the Academy after it first opened," Azalea said in a whisper. "When his eighteenth Reaping came, he was supposed to volunteer, but he had gotten my mother pregnant with me. I guess he decided a poor quarryman was a better father than a dead tribute."

Cato nodded, busy imagining Titus stabbing other tributes in the neck and acting as vicious as his youngest daughter. A man of that size with that much bloodlust was a dangerous thing in the arena. He almost certainly would have won, if the odds were in his favor.

"Well, I think your sister will be Victor enough for everyone," Cato said finally, turning back to find the entire group looking at him.

"Are you finished?" Thaddeus asked loudly, spit flying from his mouth. Cato managed a nod. "Good. Now we can get back to sparring, unless you're opposed?"

"No, sir," Cato replied, trying not to show his amusement.

"You're paired with Mae," Thaddeus told him, still glaring harshly. "Caesar, you're with Natalie. Jason is paired with Azalea. Mark will be with Sage. Justus will fight Octavia. Elias will be with Carson. Ethan and Lucas, you'll have to fight each other. It seems we've run out of girls."

Azalea sighed and turned to Cato, watching Thaddeus walk over to join the other instructors.

"Good luck," she said, shrugging. "Not that you'll need it. Mae isn't the best at hand-to-hand."

"Don't get too close to Jason," Cato advised, looking over at the stocky boy with the dark red hair. "If he gets an arm around you, you're finished."

Azalea nodded and walked beside Cato to the ring. His glare sent many younger trainees jumping out of their way, but those who didn't move were pushed roughly aside. Though she wasn't a proponent for needless violence, Azalea did have to admit that Cato made it much easier to get a spot at the front.

As the matches prepared to start, Azalea settled in. They would go through the age divisions, so their group would be close to the middle. It was almost worse not to be able to get it out of the way. Watching others get cut and punched and choked made it difficult to get into your own fighting zone, but Azalea supposed that was the point. The Games didn't allow for any breathers, nor did it allow for unpreparedness. Everything was fast-paced and brutal, and getting left behind was never an option.

Cato looked down at Azalea out of the corner of his eye, watching her following the first match. Her determination to win was plain on her face, but he knew the chances were slim. She hadn't won a match in the past three months, having gone through an injury and then acting overly protective. She favored her left ankle, the ankle she had broken one sparring day in the middle of winter, and it was a disadvantage. Her knife skills were sharp, that Cato knew, but they weren't always enough to win.

Azalea's fingers itched for a weapon as she watched in anticipation. Julius and Talia were facing off, throwing kicks and punches faster than she could process. They had been ordered to fight without weapons, which wasn't unusual for the eighteen-year-old division. The two trainees were the obvious choices for the year's tributes. Their determination was obvious in the set of their jaws and the spark in their eyes. They had been instructed, as they were every Friday, not to aim for any fatal body parts. Appendages were fine, and even parts of the back and chest were acceptable, but major arteries and nerve centers were off-limits.

Julius threw a kick over Talia's head, and she ducked just in time to avoid a nasty concussion. Her leg struck out, sweeping his feet out from under him, and she leapt onto his chest. He struggled, grabbing her hand and bending it backward until she yelped and rolled away. They continued to grapple back and forth, letting out grunts of pain and frustration, until Julius pinned Talia with a hand clutching her throat.

She fought back hard, kicking and trying to break his hold, but eventually her face began to turn an ugly shade of red. Baring her teeth in fury, she tapped the mat with the hand that wasn't prying at his fingers. The instructors called the match, some shaking their heads at her premature yield.

Julius hopped up, stepping over Talia's supine form, and let out a roar of victory. He was breathing hard, caught up in the rush of the attack. Azalea could see the blood pumping in his temple, making the skin throb in time with his heart, and the veins standing out in his neck. The pure feral gleam in his eye reminded her of the look she'd seen on Cato's face the day he'd broken another trainee's back by flipping him over and slamming him to the ground.

It was a fairly common expression among the male trainees, but it never failed to give Azalea a slight chill. The boys missing the gleam would never be chosen to enter the Games, but those who possessed the animalistic glare never truly left them.

* * *

Azalea watched as Cato dodged another of Mae's pitiful swings. Her sword had been drooping more prominently in the past minute, lagging somewhere around her knees, and Azalea could see her becoming exhausted. Cato was still hopping lightly from foot to foot, waiting for her to strike so he could parry quickly. He had already nicked her several times, drawing blood in thin lines down each of her arms until her fingers were sticky with it.

Azalea almost felt sorry for the girl, confident that she could have put up a better fight with any other weapon—or any other boy. As it was, Cato was the reigning sword champion, having behaved as if it were an extension of his arm since he was twelve. There was no fighting him when he had a sword, unless you were quick enough to dodge and make him work.

Cato, obviously getting bored, swept his sword in a few lightning-fast motions. Mae's weapon fell to the ground, knocked out of her hand. Not one to win so easily, Cato slashed at Mae with a vicious swipe, pulling back at the last moment to avoid cutting off her arm. Mae let out a piercing scream, silencing the entire room with her pain, and fell to the ground clutching her left wrist.

One of the instructors, Chalia, leapt forward and wrapped a thick piece of cloth around her arm. No one moved, waiting to see what would happen next. There were no cries of victory, no excited chanting of Cato's name. All anyone could do was stare at the tall boy in the center of the mat.

Cato was smirking triumphantly, eyes glimmering in the fluorescent lights of the gym. His face was flushed with adrenaline and his entire body was covered in a light sheen of sweat. All in all, he looked like a Greek soldier who had cut down his opponent in the heat of battle.

"Winner: Cato," Romulus said calmly. He gave a swift nod to Chalia, who ushered the still-crying Mae out of the gym. Presumably she would be cleaned up and given some stitches.

Cato handed his sword back to the instructor manning the weapons table, though everyone could see that he was loath to give it up. He looked around, seeing that most trainees were whispering behind their hands and watching him with wide eyes. His wandering gaze locked onto Azalea, who was looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and dubiousness.

Azalea crossed paths with Cato on her way to the weapons table. He stared down at her, eyes boring into hers, and gave her a small bump with his shoulder. She would take it as a good luck gesture, but then again it could always be something more menacing. With one last look at him, in which he was shoving some fifteen-year-olds out of his way, she accepted the two knives handed to her by Nicodemus.

Her fingers twirled the blades out of habit, testing their balance and weight. Instantly, her mind began calculating the exact force needed to send the blades through Jason's skull, which was about five yards away at the moment. Though she was happy that she had gotten her favorite weapon, she doubted it would do much for her close range.

Romulus had the two trainees meet in the middle of the mat. He looked at each of them, gauging who he thought would win, and then stepped away. This was their cue to begin, though they did not take it as such. Azalea and Jason faced off for another few seconds, eyes locked in an attempt to see what the other person was about to do.

"Come and get me, pretty flower," Jason sneered, eyes narrowing at her.

"Teasing will get you nowhere," she replied quietly, unwilling to take the bait.

"We'll see about that when I cut off your petals, one by one."

With that, Jason took off, his feet beginning to take him in a circle. Azalea countered quickly, not letting him get behind her, and kept focus on his hands. He made a quick jab at her, which she easily dodged, and then swept his arm around in a slashing motion. Azalea leaned back watching the knife cross right over her nose.

Everyone at the Academy knew that Azalea's right ankle was still weak, including Jason. He darted in and out, making her plant her feet and shoot to the right. Just as he'd thought, the cut made her ankle give out and extracted a gasp from her lips. While she was at a disadvantage, he barreled into her and sent her sprawling.

Thinking he'd won, Jason played to the crowd and grinned mightily. They screamed out his name, cheering him on and calling for Azalea's blood. Instead of pinning her, however, he strutted around and threw one of his knives to the left of her head. It stuck in the mat, handle quivering.

Breathing harder, Azalea righted herself and went on the offensive. She couldn't throw her knives for risk of losing them, but she could certainly use the throwing skills in other ways. Her feet knew the motions before she could even begin to think, taking her around and around as she swiped at Jason. One of her legs came up in a spin kick, striking him hard across his shoulder. She felt something on the tip of his shoulder pop, probably a dislocation of the acromioclavicular joint.

He reeled back, dropping his shoulder to try and defend it, but she knew that he would be weak on that side. His large arms were dangerous, but less so with a shoulder injury. Azalea dodged another of his knife attacks, feeling the tip of the blade slice into her shirt. There was blood, she was sure, but the wound was only superficial.

They danced back and forth for a few more minutes, each landing blows on the other but neither really making much progress. Jason, looking tired, finally decided to go in for the kill. His right hand took a fake jab at Azalea, while his left arm wrapped around her neck as she tried to avoid the blade. In his haste to end the match, he dropped his other knife and focused on trying to strangle her.

Azalea kept her cool, taking pointers from Talia's earlier defeat. She still clutched her knives in both hands, though one of her arms was pinned to her side by Jason's thick bicep. The other hand, however, was free to plunge the knife into Jason's thigh, just to the right of his femoral artery. He let out a strangled yell, arms retracting as he looked at his leg in horror.

Seizing the moment, Azalea knocked him down to raucous cheers. Refusing to make the same mistake he did, she pinned him with one knee and wiggled the knife in his thigh. He screamed, eyes bulging as his self-control fully dissipated, and looked as if he were about to pass out. Rather than win by a technicality, Azalea pressed the flat of her remaining knife under his chin.

"Winner: Azalea," Romulus boomed. His voice had a slightly surprised tone, which mirrored the faces around him. Everyone had expected Jason to win, given his brute strength and her three straight months of losses.

Nicodemus came over and shooed Azalea away, glaring when she gave one final tap to the knife lodged in Jason's leg. She smirked triumphantly, eyes taking on that feral gleam for just a moment. It was nothing compared to the look of the victorious boys, but she looked vicious.

"Well shit," Clove said as Azalea passed her. "I guess you've recovered from your little boo-boo, then."

"Language," Azalea muttered, unwilling to give Clove the satisfaction of anything else.

Cato stood against the back wall, arms crossed and a twisted smirk playing across his lips. He waited until Azalea was almost to him before pushing off from the pillar he rested against and walking over.

"A bit sadistic, but I like your flair," he said, falling into step with her as she headed for the infirmary.

"You're one to talk." Azalea grinned, ignoring the blood that trickled down her cheek from the corner of her eye. "I think you did that to Mae just to hear her scream."

He shrugged, considering the notion. It was possible that he just wanted her to scream, but it was also possible that he hadn't felt it had been a victory without some sort of actual wound. Small scrapes and cuts were something, but they weren't _enough_. They weren't definitive and they weren't painful.

"Congrats on the win anyway," he said, nudging her with his shoulder again before leaving her at the infirmary doors.

Azalea watched as he strode toward the pool area, trying not to admire the harnessed power in his rolling shoulders and loosely clenched fists. He could have easily knocked her over with his push, but he hadn't. The mystery of Cato was trying to figure out when his harsh side was going to rear its ugly head.

* * *

**Well, there you have it! Hope you liked it, and please shoot me a review! I love hearing what you've got to say :)**


	4. Ink Under My Skin

**Why hello! I'm overwhelmed by the response to this; you guys are so great! Over 1,000 views as I'm typing this!**

**reneejuliet: I'm so glad you like this story, and I'm in awe of your music-spotting skills! I love The Civil Wars too, and I think they are very fitting for this story. I hope you keep reading and enjoying :)**

**Thanks to everyone who read, favorited, alerted, and reviewed. You keep me writing! I hope you enjoy this chapter, though it is a little darker. Cato's mean side comes out in a big way. Please let me know if you love or hate this. Reviews are lovely! And just in case, though no one said it in a review, Azalea's LEFT ankle is the one that is hurt. I caught myself saying right in the last chapter after I'd already established left. Sorry!**

* * *

Cato walked the short distance to Azalea's house the next day. His hands hung loosely by his sides, swinging gently as he strode casually down the dirt road. Outwardly, he was the picture of confidence and ease, the perfect male tribute. On the inside, however, he was apprehensive.

He mounted the steps to the house quickly, taking them two at a time, and knocked swiftly on the door before he could lose his nerve. He hoped Azalea would answer the door, but that hope proved futile.

"What the hell do _you_ want?" Clove asked, opening the door just enough that she could see him.

"Hey, Clove. Good to see you." Cato smirked, hooking his thumbs in the pockets of his shorts. "Nice win over Peter yesterday. I think he peed himself."

Clove glared, not rising to his bait. "Any day now."

"I came to see Azalea, actually," he said, stretching his neck. "Know where she is?"

"Of course I do," Clove snapped, rolling her eyes. "You should ask if I'm going to tell you."

Cato waited, unwilling to give the tiny girl the satisfaction of asking again. They stared at each other, neither wanting to break the contact first in fear of being branded a coward.

Finally, Cato's face split in a mocking grin. "I remember why you hate me now."

"Oh?" Clove feigned disinterest, looking down at her fingernails.

"I beat you last year when our age divisions were matched up. You've never gotten over it."

"Like you would get over someone beating _you_," she snarled, slamming the door in his face.

Cato let out a harsh, barking laugh and swung himself up onto the porch railing. If he was right, and he always was, Clove would go fuming to her older sister and let slip that he was outside. All he would have to do was wait until Azalea came to meet him.

* * *

Azalea was sitting on her bed when she heard the door slam. Seconds later, Clove stormed into the room and grabbed a knife off the dresser, hurling it at the far wall. It stuck, quivering, in the plaster and made a deep thud.

"You're in rare form this morning," Azalea commented dryly, sharpening one of her own knives. The whetstone slid across the blade with a satisfying sound, and she fell back into the easy rhythm of it.

"That idiot boyfriend of yours has got to go!" Clove yelled, throwing another knife. This one landed just to the left of Azalea's head.

Continuing her task calmly, Azalea refused to glance up at her sister. "I'm sorry, but I'm not sure who you mean."

"Oh, yeah right." Clove took a few ragged breaths, still pacing at the foot of the bed. "Your ridiculous Cato."

Azalea's head snapped up, eyes focusing on a fuming Clove. "Is he here?"

"Unfortunately!"

Azalea put down her knife and whetstone, ignoring the blades that missed her by inches as she strode to the front door. As she threw it open to reveal a lounging Cato, Clove let out a scream of frustration.

"Morning," Cato said genially, as if he hadn't thrown Azalea's sister into a fit of rage.

Azalea raised an eyebrow, looking him up and down as if to devise his reason for being there.

"Well if you aren't going to say anything, I'll just leave." He hopped off the railing and started down the steps, not once pausing to look back at her.

"What did you do to my sister?" Azalea asked.

Turning to glance over his shoulder, Cato shrugged. "Guess you'll have to come with me to find out."

A small noise of disbelief pulled itself from the back of Azalea's throat, but she followed him anyway. He let her catch up before striding off toward the Academy, long legs carrying him almost too fast for her to match.

"We're seriously coming here on a Saturday?" Azalea asked, disgust coloring her tone as the Academy loomed up ahead. "Do you not understand the concept of the weekend?"

"Just trust me," Cato said, flashing a devastating smile and disappearing through the doors.

Groaning, Azalea went in after him and glanced back longingly at the bright sunlight. The day had dawned bright but significantly cooler, a nice breeze blowing across the rocks. She had been looking forward to going outside and trimming the weeds that always seemed to flourish over the summer.

"You're insane!" Azalea grumbled, stepping into the gym and seeing that Cato was stretching on the training mat.

"I'm motivated," he corrected her, pulling his foot up behind him in a quad stretch.

"But I'm not," she said, flopping down beside him and spreading her arms. "How about I just lie here and watch you…do whatever manly thing you're about to do?"

"An audience is tempting, but no." He held out a hand to help her up, but she pulled him down instead. "What?"

"Just sit for a minute." She looked over at him, eyes dancing, and wrinkled her nose. "It's a weird feeling, sitting still in the Academy."

Cato gave her one last confused look before deciding to indulge her. He stretched out beside her, folding his arms beneath his head and staring up at the beams that crisscrossed the ceiling. They stayed there for a while in silence, listening to each other breathe and losing themselves in their own thoughts. After a bit, however, Cato started to get restless.

"Okay, we've played your procrastination game long enough. It's time to get down to business." He hauled her up by the arm, ignoring her protests. "I want to see if yesterday was a fluke."

"Oh, how flattering!" Azalea rolled her eyes, kicking him lightly on the thigh. "You sure know how to charm a girl, Cato."

"So that came out wrong." He grinned unrepentantly, dodging her next halfhearted attack. "Seriously, though, I want to spar. I think you can do better."

"I'm not even in the proper clothes," Azalea pointed out, looking down at her worn pants and too-large shirt. "My plan for today involved some relaxation, cleaning, and maybe even some reading."

"I promise not to tear anything," Cato said in a placating tone. "Come on, it'll be fun."

"Sparring, fun, and _you_ don't mix." Folding her arms, Azalea leveled a provoking stare at him.

With a sigh, Cato threw a punch right at her head. There was no way to _not_ avoid it, so Azalea ducked and rolled out of the way.

"What the hell?" she cried, jumping up as he swept a kick where she had been moments before.

"Fight me!" he growled, punching at her again.

"No!" She sprang away, dancing off the edge of the mat and avoiding the leg that lashed out at her.

Cato kept going, backing her to the corner of the room until he had her pinned against the wall. She was breathing hard, eyes narrowed at his icy glare. He slammed his palm into the wall next to her head, making her flinch away.

"Maybe you should fight back," he suggested, nostrils flaring.

Azalea frowned, ducking under his arm and stomping on the top of his foot. He grunted, jerking his leg away just enough that she could escape into the room. Angry and slightly hurt, Azalea jabbed her closed fist into his kidney hard enough to make a normal man collapse. Cato, however, merely let out a roar of rage and grabbed her by the ponytail.

"Let go!" she screamed, kicking at him as he drug her back to him by the hair. "Cato!"

"Now you're getting somewhere," he breathed into her ear. He shoved her away, watching as she stumbled over the corner of a piece of workout machinery.

Azalea glared at him, breath refusing to come, and steadied herself against a stack of weights. Without warning, she ran at him and began a complicated series of kicks and punches. He responded in kind, dodging and attacking evenly. They went around and around, leaping over benches and ducking under bars until they were back on the mat in the center of the room.

By the time Cato had her pinned with a hand on her throat, they were both struggling to breathe. Azalea narrowed her eyes at his handsome face, ignoring the sweat that dripped off both of them, and curled her fingers around his wrist.

He let her go easily enough, having gotten what he wanted, and got to his feet without a word. Cato offered her a hand, but she refused to take it and struggled up on her own.

Azalea could feel bruises welling up all over her body on the places Cato had managed to strike. Her left side ached, a pain radiating up through her ankle all the way to her ribs. Cato had avoided hitting her bad foot, but it still hurt from the running and jumping. He had not, however, spared her hip and ribs. They would bear angry black bruises for much of the next month.

She had gotten him back, though. He was sporting the beginnings of a black eye, the skin around his right cheek beginning to turn an ugly shade of reddish blue. Her attack on his kidney must have been congealing into a bruise as well, and she was sure it would hurt more as each hour passed.

"What is wrong with you?" Azalea asked when she finally regained control of her voice. "That wasn't sparring, that was a vendetta!"

"No, that was real sparring. The kind the instructors want to see but rarely get to." He pushed his sweat-drenched hair out of his face. "That is the kind of fighting that will win the Games."

Too shocked to speak, Azalea settled for slapping Cato in the face. He reeled back but did not retaliate, staring levelly at her. This infuriated her more, making her strike out again, but this time he caught her hands.

"If you do that kind of fighting in training, you'll win the tribute spot. Natalie won't stand a chance against you. No one will."

* * *

When Azalea returned home and walked into her room, she expected to see Clove. It surprised her when no one was there, but she was glad. Changing out of her bloodied clothes would be bad enough without an audience, and Clove would have wanted to know what had happened.

She couldn't wrap her mind around what Cato had done. He had pushed and pushed until she couldn't take it, pulling no punches and leaving nothing sacred. He had pulled her hair, for Christ's sake!

As she washed the blood off her skin, she stared at her split and swelling knuckles. It was almost certain that she had broken her hand against Cato's hard cheek, but she wasn't sure how she would manage to get it fixed. The Academy didn't want trainees fighting outside of class, and her father would kill Cato if he knew.

Azalea was just pulling a clean shirt over her head when someone knocked on the door. She felt her stomach tighten, knowing somehow that it was Cato on the other side of the door.

"What?" she called through the wood, unwilling to let him in.

"I brought something for your hand," he replied.

Azalea turned the knob slowly, opening the door inch by inch until a battered Cato was revealed with a jar of ointment. He held it out with a trembling hand, a contrite expression on his face.

"I know you're mad, but it isn't because I made you fight. It's because I made you see what you can really do." He stepped over the threshold when she didn't stop him, looking down at her intensely. "Now you know what I did the moment you scaled down that rock wall."

Azalea took a deep breath, weighing her options. She could take the ointment and heal her hand within a matter of hours, thereby accepting Cato's veiled apology; or, she could turn him away and deal with the injury herself. Deciding to take the less brutal option, she grabbed the jar from him and tried to open it with one hand.

"Let me," he said quietly, taking the jar back and undoing the lid. Instead of handing it back, he scooped up a blob of the gelatinous blue substance and started rubbing it into the back of her hand. At first, the rubbing caused Azalea agonizing pain, but after a few seconds it began to subside into a dull ache that was almost pleasant.

"Thanks," she muttered when he was finished, cradling her hand against her chest. It was already starting to feel better, which was a relief.

"I shouldn't have gone that far." He raked his fingers through his hair, looking up at the ceiling as if searching for words. "I figured making you mad was the way to go."

"I didn't want to fight," Azalea told him, still seething beneath the surface. "You really hurt me."

"But the thing is, you hurt me too." Cato looked at her imploringly. "No one has done that in a long time. Why don't you fight like that all the time?"

"Because I don't want to be a tribute!" she yelled. "I don't want to leave District 2."

"Then why are you at the Academy?" Cato asked, confused.

"My mom wanted me to go, and she died right after I joined. I couldn't just ignore what she wanted and leave before her body was even cold." Azalea turned away, arms hugging her torso tightly. "I don't want to get better or be the top of the age division. I just want to get through it all alive. Not everyone is like you, Cato. Not everyone wants to win."

"Who says winning was my idea?" he whispered, so low she couldn't hear him. "How can I make it up to you?"

"Don't make every time we hang out about making me better," she said, looking at him again. "I'm okay the way I am."

"Yeah, okay." Cato walked over and put his arms around her in a gentle hug, trying to avoid all the bruises he had given her.

Azalea let him hug her, resting her chin on his strong shoulder. She had known that the vicious side of him existed, but she had never been forced to view it up close. He scared her, down to the deepest part of her being, and she didn't like it. Seeing him so violent and ruthless had made her wonder if Clove was right to hate him.

"Where did you get that ointment?" Azalea asked finally, pulling away from him and putting a few feet of distance between them.

"Do you really want to know?" he replied, raising an eyebrow and wincing as his cheek stretched. Azalea nodded, gesturing for him to continue. "I stole it from a Peacekeeper. He had been bragging about it to a woman down at the market, saying that it was straight from the Capitol. It was a long time ago, and I had wanted anything that was from the Capitol. So I took it."

"That was dangerous." Azalea looked him up and down, trying to find a hint of rebelliousness in him, but there was none. He was every inch a citizen of Panem, born and bred to serve the Capitol. So was she, in her own way. He would fight in the Games and she would eventually have sons who would work in the quarries. There was nothing out of the ordinary about either of them.

"Yeah," Cato replied, "I guess it was."

"You should go before my father and sister get home." Azalea walked him to the door, gnawing on the inside of her lip. "I'll see you at the Reaping."

"That's two weeks away," Cato reminded her, frowning.

"I know."

* * *

**And there we are! Please let me know what you thought by leaving a review!**


	5. The Sea I'm Sinking In

**Sorry it's been a while! Finals are fast approaching, and of course that means papers and assignments all over the place. This may be the last update for a while, seeing as I have a presentation, a paper, and a final this week.**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed, favorited, alerted, and read! You guys are fabulous. I'm so glad you're liking this story, and I hope it continues to please you. This isn't my best chapter, but it is a bit of a bridge between regular life and the Games. Just to clear things up, in case you were wondering, this is the 72nd Games, two years before Cato is supposed to go in. All the tributes and the action will be fabricated, since we don't really know the arena type or any of the players in these Games. We have a while before Cato volunteers, but I'll try to keep you interested!**

**Please review, if you can, because I'd love to know what you thought of this.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games. Wish I did.**

* * *

It took the full two weeks before the Reaping for Azalea to forgive Cato. During that time, when she had started feeling herself warm up to him again, one of her bruises always managed to throb. Everything hurt, from her back down to her ankles, and her head ached for days after his hair-pulling stunt. She supposed he was trying to teach her not to wear a ponytail for training, but that was ridiculous. She hadn't been expecting to spar, much less go all out.

Cato had made a point to stay close to her in training, never partnering with her but always going to the same stations. His blue eyes locked onto her and made her skin hot, causing a blush to creep up her neck. He would get yelled at for being distracted, even managing to get a hard hit from Thaddeus, who took it upon himself to make Cato pay attention. It was almost flattering, but all Azalea managed to feel was slight apprehension.

She knew she wouldn't be able to ignore him after the Reaping, given that the Academy forced its students to watch the Games together in the amphitheater. Each year the trainees gathered and watched their peers fight to the death, acting as if they hadn't just sent their friends off to be slaughtered. The instructors would call out notes and identify strategies, using the entire event as a lesson in real time.

There was every chance that Cato would take it as an opportunity to force interaction, so she figured she would beat him to the punch. After a lot of fuming and taking her anger out on the trees outside their house, Azalea was ready to forgive, but not forget.

As they did every year, Azalea and Clove called a truce for Reaping Day so they could help each other with their hair. Neither girl was very interested in looking nice, but it was an unspoken rule that everyone had to dress up for the Reaping.

Azalea had avoided telling Clove what had happened, knowing that the younger girl would sing her triumph from the rooftops and insist that Azalea never speak to Cato again. One thing Clove maintained, in the form of sisterly love, was the edict that she was the only one allowed to cause Azalea bodily harm. It would have been sweet if Clove hadn't taken every opportunity to send knives Azalea's way when something annoyed her.

"Watch it!" Clove snapped, swatting at Azalea as she drug a brush through her hair.

"Oh, calm down," Azalea replied evenly. She continued brushing through Clove's dark hair, envying her just a little. "You're looking more and more like Mom every year."

"I _don't_ look like her." Clove yanked her head away, ignoring Azalea as she tried to smooth the ends of her hair. "Why do you always have to talk while we do this?"

"Otherwise I would just be pulling your hair." Azalea smirked, twisting a few strands of Clove's hair around her finger so they fell the right way.

Clove glowered, shrugging Azalea away. "Just sit down. We're going to be late."

Azalea rolled her eyes good-naturedly, settling onto the edge of the bed. Clove stepped up behind her, dragging the brush through Azalea's auburn hair so quickly that it couldn't have done much good.

"Don't go too fancy on me," Azalea said warningly, knowing Clove's penchant for elaborate, ridiculous-looking braids that would torment her sister for weeks.

"Who is styling whom?" Clove asked, flicking her older sister's ear.

"Okay, I trust you."

Moments later, Azalea yowled as Clove yanked out multiple strands of hair.

* * *

By the time the sisters arrived at the Reaping, most of the District had already assembled. Clove ran on ahead, getting her finger pricked without flinching and joining her age division. Azalea, however, took her time and looked around the square. It didn't take her long to pick Cato's blond head out of the crowd, given that he was the third tallest boy in the District. He was laughing at something his friend Jacob had said, not looking somber in the slightest. The rest of Panem would be mortified at the display, but it was normal in District 2. No one had to worry about the odds being in their favor because the Academy took care of choosing the tributes.

It had been announced the day before that Julius and Talia would be entering the Games, though everyone had known it for almost two years. The two trainees were made to shake hands and bow to the instructors, who had seen so many of their students killed that they refused to acknowledge their new tributes. The entire Academy had saluted, saying a cursory "May the odds be ever in your favor."

Azalea hated the entire process, but it was better to have willing volunteers than helpless twelve-year-olds chosen year after year. In a way, the Academy and its volunteers were a defense mechanism, built up over seven decades to combat the reaching, greedy hands of the Capitol. If the Districts chose their own tributes, it was less of a tithe and more a sacrifice for honor.

Once Azalea had taken her place in the queue, she faced the Justice Building and the large screens that had been set up around a stage. It didn't take long for District 2's escort, Desmeralda Dunkirk, to sashay onto the stage and expose her glitter-pocked teeth in a wide smile. She was almost a welcome sight in her bright dress and high heels. Her iridescent tattoos glimmered in the sunlight, curling up over her collarbones and drifting into her hair. They converged in a point on her forehead, highlighting the sharp angles of her eyebrows and the long eyelash extensions that were a blinding shade of pink.

"Welcome to the 72nd Reaping!" Desmeralda exclaimed, clapping her hands together and holding them in front of her. "Before we begin, I have a very inspirational film for you today, all the way from the Capitol! I'm sure you will enjoy it very much."

The usual movie, filled with carnage and the horrors of war, lit up the screens. President Snow narrated, explaining the origins of the Hunger Games and hailing the sacrifices of the Districts. Azalea found it all to be rather cheesy, but she never dared say so. Clove was enraptured every year, returning home with a gleam in her eye as she rehashed her favorite parts. She was caught up in the glory of it all, desiring nothing more than to enter the Games and become a Victor.

"Now then, shall we begin?" Desmeralda asked, looking around after the film had finished rolling. "Ladies, we will start with you."

"I volunteer!" Talia called, emerging from the crowd in front of Azalea.

"Oh, how lovely! Thank you, dear." Desmeralda gestured for her to join the Capitol representatives on the stage, her neon fingernails almost impossible to look at.

No one gasped or acted remotely surprised. As Talia sprinted to the stage, the entire District stood still and made no sound. It was only when Desmeralda asked for applause that people reacted, whooping and calling Talia's name like she was their one hope for glory.

The process was repeated for Julius, who barely allowed Desmeralda to speak before jumping forward. With the tributes selected, the Reaping was adjourned. The entire event, including the film, had only taken seven minutes.

Azalea moved off with the rest of the children of the District, carefully avoiding making eye contact with Clove, who expected to meet up with her to walk to the Academy. The trainees would meet that afternoon to watch the recaps of the Reapings from other Districts, using it as an opportunity to size up the competition and create mock strategies for getting sponsors and winning the Games.

Instead, Azalea went in search of Cato. She caught up to him at the fruit stand, grabbing his arm to turn him around. He rounded on her, ready to curse out the person who had dared to grab him, but stopped when he realized who she was.

"Hey," she said, trying to smile. "Walk to the Academy with me?"

Cato nodded, unsure of what to say. Rather than risk putting her in a bad mood, he stayed silent and fell into step beside her.

They followed the throng of trainees along the road to the Academy, each casting furtive glances at the other. Azalea was unable to decide how to approach conversation, having hoped that Cato would say something first. Staying quiet was not his forte, and he usually managed to say something cocky or insensitive.

This time, however, it appeared to be Azalea's turn to start the conversation. She turned to Cato, putting a hand on his arm to stop him. He looked down at her expectantly, blond eyebrows drawn together in anticipation.

"I know I've been avoiding you for the past few weeks, but I needed time to figure a few things out." She paused, twisting a curl of hair around her fingers and gnawing on the inside of her cheek. "It's like you snapped, Cato. One minute you were fine, but the next you were pulling me around by my hair."

He blew out a sigh and ran a hand over his face. "I got a little out of control. Are you okay, though? How is your hand doing?"

Cato took her hand in both of his, lifting it up so he could inspect it. The knuckles were still slightly bruised, but everything under the skin was intact. He brushed his fingers across the bruising, grimacing at what he had done. His touch was so different from before, the polar opposite of the vicious grip of his fingers and the overwhelming force of his fists. It was almost impossible to see that Cato now when this calm, light-fingered giant stood in front of her.

"I'm fine," Azalea said, gently drawing away and clasping her hands behind her back. "It just took a while for me to…forgive you, I guess."

Cato swallowed visibly, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, and glanced away to where the rest of the trainees were entering the Academy. Natalie was glaring at him from the entrance, her pretty features contorted into an angry arrangement of angles. He supposed they should catch up, but he didn't want to leave Azalea if she was still upset.

"How about a pact?" he asked, turning back to Azalea. "I promise never to hurt you again if you'll promise to do your best in training."

"I don't think you not hurting me should be conditional." Azalea raised an eyebrow skeptically.

"Yeah, that came out wrong. I won't hurt you again regardless, but I really think you should start pushing yourself." He put a hand to her cheek and grazed his thumb across a scar that decorated her cheekbone. "You're better than you know."

"I don't want to be a tribute," Azalea said, feeling a bit of déjà vu. "Cato, can't you just let me be?"

"No. You drive me crazy, pretending that you're not better than everyone else. It's like hiding a part of yourself," he said, shaking his head. He couldn't imagine not wanting to be the best, not wanting to show everyone what you were made of. It was a point of pride for him, something he couldn't let go.

"See, the thing is, I'm _not_ better than them. You made me so mad that I didn't even know what was going on. For all I know, I'll never be able to do that again." Azalea shrugged away from his hand, folding her arms across her chest protectively. "Not everyone is as good at this as you are, Cato."

"What does that mean?" he asked, hand dropping back to his side.

"I mean that not everyone is as capable of killing. You're too good at it." Azalea sighed, regretting the words as soon as they came out of her mouth.

"Do you think I'm just some brute who wanders around thinking of ways to end people's lives?" he snarled, features contorting in fury. It took a few moments, but he controlled his anger, the only outward sign being his flared nostrils. "Fighting isn't everything I am."

"I know," Azalea said quietly, thinking of the happy, laughing Cato who had splashed around in the pool with her. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"Let's just get to the Academy before we're missed." Cato started off without her, expecting her to catch up.

Azalea stared after him, having gotten another glimpse at his mercurial temper. She hadn't meant to insult him or imply that he was just a well-trained Academy student, but it was true. Cato had more potential than anyone, including his friend Jacob. There was a very solid chance that Cato would represent District 2 in his eighteenth year, having surpassed everyone in sheer size and strength.

* * *

When Azalea reached the amphitheater, everyone had already taken their seats. She slipped in behind Cato, who was standing at the back with his arms crossed over his chest. He looked very intimidating, glaring out over the crowd and clenching his teeth so hard that a muscle in his jaw jumped.

Azalea nudged him with her elbow, waiting until he glanced at her before making an apologetic face. For a minute she thought he wouldn't respond, but then he gave her a small nudge with his elbow. She grinned, turning to face the large screen at the center of the semi-circle of bleachers.

Romulus stood at a podium, hands clasping the sides reflexively as if they were keeping him upright. His scarred eyebrow pulled low over his eye, casting a threatening shadow over his face.

"The Hunger Games begin today," he began, going through his oft-rehearsed script. "We prepare to honor the Capitol with our sacrifice and, in our way, prepare for next year. Before we begin watching the Reapings from the other Districts, we must commemorate our fallen comrades."

As they did every year, all the trainees and instructors fell silent and bowed their heads in respect. Though the Academy regarded failed tributes as weak, it still wished to give them the reverence they deserved. No one wanted to be accused of mocking a fallen tribute.

A minute later, the Capitol feed kicked in and displayed the Capitol seal. All the Reapings had been recorded and edited for impact, intercut with commentary from Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith.

District 1 had two volunteers, of course. Like District 2, tributes were trained and chosen to compete in the Games. Talia and Julius looked fierce in their footage, impressing Claudius so much that he declared that they would be in the final four. District 3, as Cato muttered to Azalea, looked rather weak this Reaping. They were both scrawny and under fifteen, glancing around tearfully at the assembled crowd.

District 4 was impressive, but neither tribute lived up to the great Finnick Odair. It was District 4's curse, having such a famous tribute hanging over its head. There was the prestige that went with him, of course, but they never got very high praise from the commentators.

The other Districts were nothing special. The boy from 7 seemed strong and competent, but there was only so much one could do with knowledge of logging. If the arena was not suited to tree climbers or hunters, District 7 was counted out almost immediately.

Everyone was busy discussing who would win and making guesses at strategies, ignoring the tributes from the outer Districts. Those from 11 and 12 were disregarded, as they were always the thinnest and the least-likely to win. No one cared to see the bubbly Effie Trinket either, having decided long ago that she was more ridiculous than any of the other escorts.

When the tributes from 12 faded from the screen and Caesar was finished complementing Claudius on his ascot, Romulus turned off the screen and dismissed the trainees. They would reconvene for the tribute parade in two days, having time off from training in between. The only time off they ever got was for the Games, but those weeks were filled with strategy and mental exercise.

Cato ushered Azalea out before the stampede could start, guiding her over to the doors of the gym. They waited until the commotion had stopped before launching into their own assessments of the lineup for the Games.

"I think Julius is set," Azalea said, hating that she had to discount Talia. The female tribute was tall, lean, and beautiful in a fierce way, but she didn't have the right mindset. She wasn't Enobaria, the vicious winner who had capped her teeth with pointed gold. There was nothing outright startling about Talia. She could just as well have been from District 6.

"I wouldn't ignore the boy from 1," Cato replied, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers. "He looked tough enough to be a threat."

"A threat, certainly, but do you think there's anyone who can beat Julius?"

"It depends. The odds might not be in his favor this year. He isn't very good at surviving off the land." Cato squinted into the setting sun, noticing how late it was getting. "They should be halfway to the Capitol by now."

"I would like to see it someday," Azalea admitted, smiling ruefully. "Not because I'm going into the Games, but just to say that I have. We live so close."

"I'll let you know how it is when I come back a Victor," Cato replied. He laughed when she made a face at him, dodging her playful slap. "I can do it, you know. Win."

"I have no doubt." She paused, tugging at the hem of her Reaping dress. "You don't have to go, though. You could just stay here and make a life for yourself."

"No, I couldn't. There are no good jobs in 2, unless you work in the mountain. I'm not smart enough for that, and I couldn't work in the artificial light my whole life." Cato leaned against the wall, staring off into the distance. "There might be enough to keep you here, but the only thing I can do is go to the Games. Victor or not, at least I'll have done something besides break rocks."

Azalea nodded, understanding that there was nothing she could say to keep Cato from entering the Games. He was built for them, capable and strong, and she knew that he belonged there as much as anyone. The idea of him never coming back was a difficult one, however.

"We should be getting back," she said, starting off toward her house. "Are you coming?"

"Sure." He fell into step beside her, hands still shoved deep into his pockets, and narrowed his striking blue eyes. "I guess you are sort of right."

"About what?" Azalea asked, frowning.

"I'm only good at killing. There isn't anything else I can do."

"I'm sure that isn't true." Azalea looped her arm through his, squeezing his bicep with her fingers. "You're more than just a tribute, Cato."

He shook his head, looking down at her. "Maybe."

"Stop being so negative." She grinned suddenly, taking her arm back. "Hey, I'll race you back to our street."

Cato smirked, eyes gleaming. "You're on."

They took off running, feet slapping the dirt roads in an even rhythm. Azalea let out a laugh, glancing back to see Cato coming up fast. His legs were longer than hers and he had better endurance, but she was having too much fun to care. Everything flew by in an exhilarating rush of color, turning the dull town into a whirlwind of greens and tans.

It didn't take them long to reach their street, but neither of them minded much. They stopped at the end of the road, bent over and panting. Cato looked at Azalea, taking in her flushed cheeks and bright smile, and couldn't help but grin. There was nothing better, even in the summer heat, than running flat out with someone at your side. He had missed racing with his older brother, who would never let him win. That had been their time together, spent on their way back from the Academy before his brother had left.

"Nice race," Azalea said after she had caught her breath. "I'm going to beat you next time."

"We'll see about that," Cato replied, grinning wolfishly. She might make an interesting training partner yet.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Please review, good or bad!**


	6. Your Hands Can Bruise

**Hello! This is going to be my last update before finals next week, so review! Maybe, if enough of you give me a reason, I'll manage to find time to procrastinate this weekend and write another chapter.**

**This one focuses more on Cato, so get ready for that! Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, favorited, and alerted. We're past the 2,000 hit mark! Now imagine if everyone who read reviewed!**

**Hope you guys enjoy :)**

**Disclaimer: Don't own the Hunger Games. Thanks for rubbing it in.**

* * *

Cato got back to his house just after the sun had set. He opened the door quietly, trying not to draw any attention to himself, and slipped into the kitchen/dining room. His mother was cleaning the dishes from dinner, not bothering to look over her shoulder when he came in.

He decided not to say anything to her, knowing it would only cause a fight. Instead, he tried to get to his room unnoticed by his father.

"Where the hell have you been?"

Cato froze, shoulders tensing up immediately as he recognized his father's drunken drawl. Every part of him detested his father. Down to his very bones, a feeling of panic and hatred filled him until his breathing almost stopped. Slowly, apprehensively, he turned around.

Lucius leaned against the doorframe, one arm bracing against the wood and the other hanging by his side, a liquor bottle dangling from his fingers. He bared his teeth in what he considered a smile, but Cato knew it was something more dangerous.

"The Academy," Cato replied tersely, opening the door to his room. Before he could get inside and close the door, Lucius had him by the back of the neck.

"Every other Academy kid has been back for half an hour. Don't lie to me, boy," Lucius growled. With a mighty shove, he flung Cato against the wall and gave him a swift backhand across the face. "You've been gone a lot lately."

Cato made a conscious effort not to touch the blood trickling from his lip. The best way to make it through nights like this was to stay silent and not look weak. Lucius could only afford to get drunk once or twice a month, but the times he did manage to buy a bottle were miserable for everyone. The only good aspect of the night was that Cato's little sister Diana was at a friend's house for a sleepover.

"What, no smart retort?" Lucius grinned menacingly. "You little shit. All you ever do is stand there and look at me. Do I interest you? Am I pretty?"

Cato remained impassive, eyes losing focus until he barely registered that his father was there at all. In two years, he would be in the Hunger Games and away from this daily punishment. Anything, even a fight to the death, would be better than facing his father every time he went home. Once he was a Victor, he could appease his father with a monthly stipend and never have to see him again. Once he was a Victor, he would be free.

"I asked you a question." Lucius advanced, brandishing the liquor bottle. "Aren't I pretty, son?"

Cato gave an almost imperceptible nod, knowing either answer would mean bad things. This answer got him a jeering laugh and a comment about being a pussy. The other would have resulted in another backhand and probably a knee somewhere unpleasant.

Lucius continued to provoke Cato, pushing him closer and closer to snapping, until his mother finally called in, "Let him be."

This stopped all attempts to ruin Cato. Lucius started in on his wife, moving into the kitchen and allowing Cato to escape into his room.

After locking the door, he went over to look in the mirror. His lip had swollen, complimenting the fading bruise under his eye, and his teeth were sore down to their roots. The slap had jarred him, but he hadn't let Lucius see it.

His stomach growled, forcing him to remember that he hadn't gotten any dinner. He knew his mother wouldn't have left anything; her policy was that anyone who wanted food had to be at the table when it was served. There was nothing to do except wait until morning, a prospect to which he was not looking forward.

Collapsing onto his bed with a grunt, Cato lay looking at the ceiling with one arm folded behind his head. Despite the lack of physical stress, his muscles ached. He could feel every ligament and tendon, stretched to their maximum and then released, becoming lax and useless. It was like that every day, the Academy having pushed him to the limit for so long that it was commonplace. Nothing was free from pain anymore, not since he was twelve.

The yelling continued on the other side of the door, lasting late into the night and keeping Cato awake. When he finally went to sleep, he fell into a silent, dreamless wasteland he had created for himself years ago. It was better than dreaming, which led to nightmares. No, Cato hadn't had a nightmare in years. Instead, sometimes, he felt like he was living inside one.

* * *

Two days later, Azalea tied her hair back in a quick braid and stuffed her feet into her shoes. She had five minutes to make it to the Academy before the Tribute Parade started. If the instructors saw her sneaking in the back after the screens were on, she would be in an unpleasant situation.

Clove had left an hour ago, wanting to get a good seat near the front. Instead of accompanying her sister, Azalea had stayed behind to finish some cleaning around the house. Now, however, she was paying for it.

She ran from the house, pausing to lock the door, and sprinted up the road toward the Academy. She flew down Quarryman's Row, picking up speed before she reached the hill. Her legs burned and her lungs ached, but she was determined to reach the Academy in time.

The screens were lighting up just as she slipped into the amphitheater, displaying the Capitol seal for a few moments before flashing to the faces of Claudius Templesmith and Caesar Flickerman. She blew out a sigh of relief, sliding into a seat near the back.

A few minutes into the initial broadcast, Azalea heard someone make a small _psst_ noise. She ignored it, thinking it was meant for one of the other trainees around her. When it came again, she glanced around for the source.

Cato, sitting two rows down from her, was turned around and looking directly at her. He raised his eyebrows, jerking his head to indicate he wanted her to sit next to him. A small laugh caught in her throat, held in only by the strict conditioning of the Academy. Instead of going to him, she patted the seat next to her and shrugged.

Glancing around to see where the instructors were, Cato crouched low and ducked his way up to Azalea amid the cheers of the Capitol citizens on the screens. Just as the chariot for District 1 pulled out of the gates, Cato leaned over to Azalea.

"You were late," he said, breath hot against her ear.

"I had stuff to do," she replied quietly, staring at the screens.

District 2 was now the main focus, the traditional gladiator outfits replaced with togas and marbled skin. The tributes looked like Roman statues, styled to perfection in pure white robes with golden belts and two laurel leaves behind their ears. Talia looked stunning, her long hair tied back with gold cord and her marbled cheeks shimmering with gold dust. Julius, on the other hand, looked menacing and brave, the perfect tribute. The crowds went wild, throwing roses and hats and small stuffed animals down over the chariots.

"They look good," Azalea whispered, chancing a quick glance at Cato. He was reclining back against the bleacher behind him, broad shoulders resting against the metal. Before he could reply, however, Azalea noticed his split lip.

Reaching over, she gently turned his face toward her until the cut was clearly visible. She frowned, meeting his eyes, and bit her lip.

"What happened?" she asked. "I saw you just the other day. You were fine."

"Nothing," he replied sharply, jerking his face away from her fingers. "I'm okay."

"Yeah, okay, but why is your lip busted?" Azalea turned more fully toward him, folding her arms over her chest and ignoring the spectacular event being broadcast behind her.

"Look," Cato said, bristling, "I said it was nothing. I just hit it."

Azalea scoffed, loudly enough that the trainees to the left of them glared at her. After sending them an exasperated look, she slapped Cato on the thigh.

"You're lying and you're being obstinate. Really, Cato, you think I'll believe that you just hit your face on something?"

"I don't really give a damn what you believe," Cato snarled, jerking away when she tried to put a hand on his arm.

"Shut the fuck up, both of you."

They turned to see Thaddeus looming above them, his halo of blond hair illuminated by the light from the screens. Even with the shadow covering his face, he looked positively furious. Neither of them wanted to receive any punishment from him, so they sat back and fumed in silence.

Thaddeus sat just below them, turning around every so often to make sure they were watching the parade and the subsequent speeches. They played the parts of the dutiful trainees, scanning the assembled tributes and making mental notes in case they were quizzed later. The District 4 tributes, as usual, were dressed in elaborate fish costumes. The District 7 tributes wore humiliating lumberjack outfits befitting a woodsman of two hundred years ago.

Once the credits rolled beneath Claudius and Caesar, the instructors stood and gestured for the trainees to leave. Cato and Azalea happily obliged, jogging from the amphitheater before most of the other trainees had even gotten to their feet.

"Did you get into a fight with Jacob?" Azalea asked, struggling to keep up with Cato as he strode toward the gym.

Cato stopped, the hard planes of his face relaxing just a little. "Yeah, actually, I did."

"Oh." Azalea looked him over, eyebrows knitting. "Well why didn't you just say that to begin with? Are you embarrassed that he got you?"

Cato shrugged, setting off again without bothering to see if she was following him. With her sudden interest in his wounds, he was sure she wouldn't leave him alone.

Azalea sighed, falling into step behind him as he flung the gym doors open wide and moved over to the free weights. Glad he wasn't planning on ambushing her again, she sat on one of the padded benches and watched him grab a barbell.

"Are you finished?" Cato asked, sitting on the bench opposite her and doing bicep curls.

Azalea nodded, mouth set in a tight line.

"Good." He finished a set of fifteen, switching arms in a practiced move. "You know, this initial pageantry is my least favorite part of the Games. It's all image and personality."

"Gee, seems like you'd be fine at both." Azalea smirked, picking up a three-pound weight and tossing it back and forth between her hands. "I would rather see the tributes in costumes and giving interviews. They seem more like real people. Don't you ever feel like, once you get in the Games, you'll end up a completely different person?"

Cato paused, resting the weight on his knee for a moment. "Yeah, I guess. You have to be a different person there. I couldn't talk to another tribute like I talk to you. I think you have to shut your emotions off or you'll die."

"But you might die anyway. Wouldn't you rather die a good person?" Azalea asked.

"Good people don't last in there. They die in the Bloodbath. It's the bad people who make it to the end." Cato resumed his curls, pulling the weight slowly up toward his shoulder and then letting it drop back down toward the ground with a certain degree of control.

Azalea sat pensively, half watching Cato manipulate the weights and half thinking about the tributes in their wild costumes. They all looked so spectacular, even the young children with their wide eyes and broken hearts. It was no wonder the Capitol citizens ate it up every year, with its glamor and intrigue. There was always something to stare at in the Games, be it carnage and bloodshed or amazing fashion and hairstyles.

"Don't you ever go home?" Azalea asked finally, tired of sitting while Cato went through his workout. "This training is borderline obsessive."

"I like it better here," Cato said, turning his back to her and dropping into a squat to pick up the bar. "Gets the stress out, you know?"

"What stress do you have, O Great One?" Azalea lay back on the bench, feeling her braid come loose and allow her hair to tumble all the way to the floor. She adopted what she liked to think was a good imitation of a male voice. "Hmm, maybe I'll be popular today. My hair isn't perfect, but I'll just smirk at everyone and be a jerk."

"You think that sounds like me?" Cato asked, laughing incredulously. "That was terrible!"

"No way! That was totally you. Come on." Azalea laughed with him, unable to keep a straight face any longer. "Okay, so I suck at sounding like a guy."

"That's not necessarily a bad thing." Cato put the weight down with a loud _thunk_, wiping his sweaty hands on his shorts. "Do you really think my hair isn't perfect?"

Azalea laughed and threw a towel at him. "Shut up."

"Seriously," Cato said, advancing on her. "My hair is good, right?"

"I'm not even going to dignify that with an answer," Azalea replied, sitting up and swinging her legs over the bench.

"You better." Cato reached out, grabbing her and pulling her into a sweaty hug. "Do you yield, Trainee Azalea?"

Azalea squealed, wriggling to try and get free. He only tightened his arms, drawing her close to his chest, and she jerked her head away from his sweaty shirt. He smelled like boy and gym and something else unidentifiable.

"Get off!" she screamed, laughing this time. It was very different from their last encounter in the gym, of which she was glad. It would help erase the memory of Cato coming at her full throttle.

Cato released her after another few moments of torture, a broad grin on his usually-serious face. He grabbed the discarded towel from the floor and wiped his face, arms, and neck. He wasn't nearly as sweaty as he had been after training sessions past, which Azalea should have been happy about. Once, after a two-hour session of hard cardio and weightlifting, he had lost six pounds of water weight.

"I can't believe you," Azalea laughed, pulling her damp shirt away from her skin.

"Believe it, Az," Cato said, smirking. Sobering, he ran a hand through his hair. "Sorry for doing this and leaving, but I have to go see my brother."

Azalea studied his face, taking in his fading bruises and split lip. He was still unfairly handsome, and the wounds only made him look tougher. His blue eyes bore into hers, waiting for her response.

"Oh, that's okay. I'll have to shower now anyway." She wrinkled her nose to let him know she was partially joking. "See you later?"

"Yeah," Cato agreed, nodding. "Later."

* * *

When Cato met his brother at the top of the quarry, he paused a moment. Marcus was looking out over the rocks, hands shoved deep into his pockets. His broad shoulders were hunched from working with the granite, taking on a rounded shape that all quarrymen developed. He was almost an older version of Cato, save for his brown hair that turned red in the sun.

"Hey," Cato said finally, walking up beside his brother.

Marcus turned to him, reaching out and clapping a hand on his shoulder. They stood in silence for a few minutes, staring out at the landscape before them that was cast in the fiery reds, oranges, and pinks of the sunset.

Finally, Marcus asked, "How are the Games this year?"

"They look like they'll be boring," Cato said, squinting against the dying sunlight.

"What does that mean?" Marcus sniffed and wiped at his nose.

Cato shrugged. "Julius and Talia seem to be some of the only real contenders. The Bloodbath will be monumental. It'll be one of those years with an initial burst of action and then a long, slow period before the end."

Marcus turned and studied his younger brother, frowning. "So did the old man get you or what?"

"It's not bad," Cato said defensively, putting a hand up to cover his mouth. His lip was still tender, but he wasn't going to admit it. "Better than what he did after you left."

Marcus deflated a little, the familiar burden of guilt settling over his shoulders. "I didn't mean for him to take it out on you, kid."

"I'm not a kid." Cato scowled, kicking a few rocks over the edge of the cliff. "In case you hadn't noticed, you're only six years older."

"Six years wiser," Marcus retorted, smirking slightly. "Come on, you'll always be my little brother. I love you, kid."

"Whatever." Cato was secretly pleased, but still a little annoyed at being called a child.

"So how are things going with that girl? What's her name, Rhododendron?"

"Fuck you," Cato said good-naturedly, giving his brother a shove. "You know what her name is."

"Yeah, and I still can't believe it. What, did her parents run out of regular names?" Marcus chuckled, cuffing Cato on the back of the head gently. "I'm kidding. Seriously, what's going on with you two?"

"Nothing," Cato said, feigning indifference. "We're just talking."

"Okay." Marcus grinned, watching his brother out of the corner of his eye. Looking down at his watch, he hissed in a breath. "You gotta get back home, little brother."

Cato groaned, looking at the proffered timepiece, and took off a run back toward town.

"I'll see you next week!" he called over his shoulder.

Marcus merely nodded, watching the retreating figure of one of the two people in District 2 he cared about. The empty life of a quarryman weighed down on him more at times like these, when he realized how much he had done to ruin his siblings' lives. Leaving the Academy was the only choice he had, but in the process he had forced Cato to choose the life of a tribute.

He felt powerless.

* * *

**There you have it, folks! PLEASE review. It would really make my trip through finals hell so much better!**


	7. Absinthe on My Lips

**Okay, so I procrastinated. If I get a B in English, I blame Cato! Anyway, it's all for you guys. Thanks so much for the reviews! You guys are awesome. HermioneandMarcus, mudsticks, Frannylucylucci, CLATO, Anon, and Raven Writer, you guys rock. Thanks for the encouragement and all the nice things you had to say!**

**Now, this chapter has a little bit of everything. I hope you like it because it begins the setup for the rest of the story.**

**Please review! I know there are so many of you reading, and that's amazing. The alerts and favorites always make me smile.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games!**

* * *

The time between the Tribute Parade and the interviews was taken up by training. The Academy students went through rigorous tests, similar to the exams the regular school children had to take at the end of the year. These, however, were strictly physical examinations that took place over the space of a week.

Azalea struggled through her tests, hating every moment of abuse. She watched the other students flying through the courses with ease, wishing she had the ability to do the same. Instead, all she could manage was a score that put her ahead of one half of the age division and beneath the other half.

Cato, on the other hand, enjoyed the tests. They were like a break for him, the perfect opportunity to show off and push himself harder than the rest of the year. He watched Azalea muddle through, wanting her to see that she could do so much better. It was obvious that she had defeated herself before any of the instructors even blew the whistle. Her features registered her disappointment each time she failed to beat Natalie and Octavia, the only two girls ahead of her in the rankings. She claimed that she didn't want to be the best, but Cato knew what she wouldn't admit: everyone wants the glory.

When the weapons tests began, Azalea breathed a small sigh of relief. She was better at these, even if she still wouldn't beat everyone. Knife throwing she passed with flying colors, hitting every target in the heart, head, or stomach. She ran into some trouble with the swords, but those had never been her thing. They were too heavy and had a different balance than she was used to with the knives.

At the end of the final day, Cato met Azalea at the doors of the gym. She looked exhausted and fed up, dragging her bag of workout gear behind her like a ball and chain. He smiled sympathetically, throwing an arm around her shoulders and shaking her lightly.

"You're only third in the girls' rankings," he said consolingly. "That's not bad."

"I know," she muttered, allowing herself to lean against him for a moment before straightening. "I'll just do better next time."

"I thought you were fine the way you are." Cato smirked, raising an eyebrow when Azalea glared up at him.

"Shut up." She picked up her bag and slipped the strap over her shoulder, striding away more quickly so Cato's arm dropped from her shoulders.

"Oh, come on! I'm only kidding, Az." Cato jogged to catch back up to her, chuckling to himself. "We get another break next week. Does that make you feel better?"

"Not particularly." Azalea sighed heavily, her chest weighed down by disappointment.

"Look, I'll work with you if you really want to beat Natalie and Octavia," Cato offered. "I promise it won't be like last time."

Azalea hesitated, biting her lip in indecision. She did want to win, more than she had let even herself realize, but at what cost? There were still things she never wanted to know about herself, like how far she would go to ensure her own survival. She didn't want to be a tribute, that hadn't changed. All she wanted was to know she was able to beat the other girls in her division.

"If you start to train me, it has to be on my terms," she said finally, turning to look at him. "We only go when I say so, and I want to control the amount of force we put into it. Our entire friendship can't be based around turning me into Talia."

Cato grinned, a small barking laugh forcing its way through his lips. "Trust me, Az; I don't want to turn you into Talia."

"Good." Azalea held out her hand. "It's a deal, then?"

"Yeah, it's a deal."

* * *

When the trainees gathered for the interviews, Azalea and Cato sat together from the beginning. Thaddeus stayed close, hovering just to their left to make sure they weren't talking during the broadcast. Natalie, Cato's usual training partner, sat just below them. Every once in a while, she would glance back and narrow her eyes at Cato disapprovingly. It unnerved Azalea, but Cato took it in stride.

Talia was the third tribute interviewed, dressed this time in a long, flowing green gown with one shoulder. It was done in the Roman style as well, though less obviously. The material was some sort of satin, looking like water as it flowed over her body and down to the floor. Her hair was clasped back with the same gold wire, but for this event it was held in an artistic bun.

Caesar complimented her on her outfit before asking her first question. She smiled brilliantly, white teeth gleaming in the spotlight. The same gold shimmer was spread across her cheeks, giving her an unearthly beauty. Azalea felt intensely jealous, though she immediately felt guilty for letting that thought cross her mind. Talia was competing in a deadly game, not entering a beauty contest.

"So Talia, what prompted you to volunteer for this year's Games?" Caesar asked, leaning toward her interestedly.

"I have always wanted to be a tribute," Talia said, laughing as if she had just revealed an embarrassing secret. "My District means everything to me, and I want to honor it as best I can."

The crowd roars with applause, causing the cameras to pan over the excited Capitol citizens. They stare raptly at the stage, each drinking in the scene before them. It is as if the tributes are their gods, though they are certainly not immortal.

"How brave of you to offer up your life, Talia. Tell me, is there anyone waiting for you back home?" Caesar shoots her a conspiratorial smile, as if the whole of Panem isn't watching.

"No," Talia says softly. "I don't have anyone waiting except my parents."

"Oh, I highly doubt that," Caesar exclaims. "A pretty girl like you? You must have hundreds of boys flocking to your side."

"I haven't had the time to have any romances." She smiles prettily to cover the stark harshness of her words, batting her long eyelashes at the crowd.

"Well, if you win the Games I am sure every boy in District 2 will vie for your attention." Caesar flashes a cheesy smile, raising his blue eyebrows. "Thank you, my dear, for a delightful interview."

"No, thank you, Caesar!" Talia laughs as he kisses her hand.

"May the odds be _ever_ in your favor," Caesar says in farewell, bowing her off the stage.

As Talia exits, Julius appears from the wings in a sharply fitted suit the color of molten gold. His dark hair is swept back from his face with some sort of gel, styled into perfect waves that highlight his angular cheekbones and heavy eyes. His lips are drawn into a relaxed smirk, twisting in a dangerously handsome expression that left half of the Capitol swooning.

His interview, however, is less than charming. He is cold and calculating, giving answers that are sure to win him the toughest of sponsors. It is obvious that his game will not be appealing to people; rather, he will show them his most ruthless side, the side that will win the Games at any cost.

Azalea sometimes found herself wondering what she would say in an interview with Caesar Flickerman. Though she feared the Games above anything else, she often tried to picture what it would be like to be a part of it. The ride on the chariot, the blinding lights of the stage and the glamor of the gowns, the stark newness of the arena. There was a certain draw to it, though she would never admit it.

Seeing Julius sit stoically through his interview, Azalea sighed and realized that she had no idea what she would do. The Games would throw her off, make her a completely different person, and she would have no way to control it. All she could do was hope she was never chosen as a tribute.

Julius left the stage amid a mélange of applause and apprehension. It seemed that even the Capitol citizens, with their equal taste for blood and passion, did not know how to digest Julius' rancor. The instructors, however, were nodding approvingly and whispering amongst themselves.

"He sure threw them for a loop," Azalea whispered to Cato, watching Thaddeus to make sure he didn't turn around.

"Julius knows what he's doing. The serious sponsors don't want a pretty tribute who knows how to play to the cameras." Cato moved closer so that his leg rested next to Azalea's. "You have to know what kind of aid you'll want in the end."

Azalea nodded, staring at the screens without really seeing them. Instead, she was picturing herself delivering a perfect interview. There was a mixture of sweetness and ferocity, playing to both kinds of sponsors. Caesar would ask her what her goals were, how she would get home. There wasn't a question she couldn't answer, a camera at which she didn't flash a smile.

"Azalea?" Cato asked, pulling her out of her reverie.

"Yeah?" she replied, blinking rapidly. "Sorry."

"I just asked what you thought of District 7, but I guess you didn't see his interview." Cato chuckled, leaning back against the bleachers and winking rakishly at her. "Don't worry, I won't tell."

She made a face, knocking his knee with hers. This time she paid attention to the rest of the interviews, watching as the poor District 12 tributes made fools of themselves. They obviously had no training or coaching, relying on their basic knowledge of Games past and sheer bravado. Neither looked ready, but the girl was the worst. Her small, dark features were always contorted in a frown, pulled together in such a way that it looked like she had eaten something sour.

Just when Azalea thought she couldn't watch the District 12 boy blubber about his family any longer, Caesar cut the interview and turned to the camera with a huge grin.

"Well, that's it! We're in for a treat this year," he proclaimed, spreading his arms. "Let's hear it for your tributes, ladies and gentleman!"

The crowd positively thundered, their intense elation filling the entire amphitheater and echoing around the walls. Azalea cringed, wanting to cover her ears but not daring to do so. There was nothing she hated worse than this prolonged display of bloodlust.

* * *

When they were dismissed for the evening, Cato and Azalea walked slowly down the road to their houses. Neither of them was in any particular hurry to get back to their families, content to continue on silently and enjoy each other's company.

Azalea sighed when they reached the beginning of Quarryman's Row, wiping a hand across her sweaty forehead. "Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

"I guess," Cato repeated, looking at his house with distaste.

Azalea began to walk toward her house, pausing before she got more than twenty feet away.

"Cato, do you want to eat dinner with me?" she asked, heart hammering.

Cato smirked. "That depends. Does it involve Clove too?"

"Of course," Azalea said, rolling her eyes. "Take it or leave it."

Instead of answering, Cato shoved his hands in his pockets and walked over to her. When she didn't start walking, he nudged her with his elbow. She laughed and started off again, Cato following closely beside her.

Upon entering the small house, Azalea was immediately set in upon by Clove. She rushed at her older sister, grabbing her by the arm and towing her toward their room without anything but a withering glance directed at Cato. Azalea stumbled after her, looking apologetically over her shoulder.

"What in hell?" Clove snapped, closing the door behind them. "It's one thing to hang around with him at the Academy, but don't involve me in your stupid self-mutilation."

"What are you talking about?" Azalea asked, taken aback.

"You don't think I know, but I do!" Clove clenched and unclenched her fists, seeming as if she were ready to punch something at any moment. "That sick bastard hurt you, but you act like nothing is wrong!"

"Clove, you don't understand—"

"I DO UNDERSTAND!" Clove bellowed, flinging an arm out toward the kitchen. "I understand that I told you what was going to happen, but you let him in anyway."

"It isn't like that," Azalea said, shaking her head. "He isn't as evil as you make him out to be."

Clove scoffed. "Whatever. I'm done trying to protect you."

"I'm your older sister. I should be the one protecting you." Azalea reached out, trying to smooth some of Clove's hair away from her flushed face.

"It's never been like that," Clove said in a deadly, quiet voice. She moved away from her sister's hand, cringing as if it hurt her.

Azalea nodded tiredly, dropping her hand back to her side. "You've always been stronger, Clove. He's here for dinner. Do you think you can be civil?"

"Want to ask me that after I cut off his head and feed it to his parents?"

"You're being ridiculous." Azalea sighed. "Please, Clove, just make it through this dinner. I won't bring him here again after tonight."

"You should stay away from him." Clove moved around her sister, putting her hand on the doorknob. "He'll only hurt you again."

With that, she opened the door and walked into the kitchen. Azalea stared after her, a strange feeling of pride and sadness in her heart. Clove wanted to keep her safe, which would normally have made Azalea very happy. Instead, all she could do was wonder why her sister couldn't see the same side of Cato she could. He wasn't all bad, even when he was doing something nearly unforgivable.

Azalea walked out into the main area of the house, her face red with embarrassment. She knew Cato would have heard them yelling, possibly even heard their quiet argument, but there was nothing she could do to change it.

"Sorry," she muttered, passing Cato on her way to the kitchen.

"It's fine, I deserve it." He followed her to the stove, watching as she began preparing some noodles to go with the sauce Clove was making.

"Yeah, you do, asshole," Clove hissed, not looking up from where she was dicing tomatoes.

Azalea sighed, deciding that it was best not to comment. She continued boiling water for pasta, turning the flame of the burner down when the liquid began to bubble in the pot.

Just as they began to set the table, Titus came through the front door and kicked off his thick workman's boots.

"What do we have here?" he asked, eyes narrowing on Cato.

"I invited Cato to eat with us tonight," Azalea replied calmly. She put out the folded napkins, trying to avoid her father's shrewd gaze. "I hope that's alright."

"Sure it is," Titus said gruffly, going over to the shallow sink to wash his hands. "Sit."

They all sat, Azalea making sure to put herself between Cato and Clove. When Titus sat down, they began to dole out the food in silence. No one wanted to be the first to talk, especially not Cato.

"So how are the Games going so far?" Titus asked, spooning a large helping of pasta onto his plate. "Are our tributes looking good?"

"Julius is going to win," Clove said matter-of-factly. She began eating without another word, taking pauses every so often to shoot Cato a vicious glare.

"That so? Well, we'll need another Victor's Village before long." Titus took a large bite of food, not bothering chew before swallowing. "How are your parents doing, Cato?"

Cato coughed, nearly choking on his food. "Fine, sir. My father still works at Martins' quarry."

"Good." Titus went back to eating, having met his quota for conversation.

Azalea shot an apologetic look at Cato, wishing she hadn't invited him. Nothing could be worse than an awkward meal with Titus and Clove, the two most taciturn people she knew. Normally she would be laughing at her father's antics, but after the argument with Clove, all Azalea wanted to do was crawl in a hole and never come out.

"So, Daddy," Azalea began, trying to coax her father into a better humor. "How was work today?"

"Nearly had a rockslide," he said shortly, tearing off a piece of bread and putting it into his mouth. "We had to put retaining walls around part of the work area, which costs a lot of money,"

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, knowing that the cost of the walls would come from the workers' pay. "Maybe that'll keep everything under control."

"Your brother almost got crushed," Titus said suddenly, turning to Cato. "He got out of the way just in time, lucky kid."

Cato paled, looking a little sick. He hadn't gone to see his brother the day before like he had planned. What if he had died? Cato hated the idea that the last thing his brother would have thought about him was that he never showed up to their meeting.

"I'm glad he's okay." Cato sat stiffly, shoulders tense beneath his thin shirt.

Azalea nudged his leg lightly with her foot, noticing the pallor that had come over his entire face and neck. He glanced at her, shaking his head minutely, and went back to eating. She gave her father a reprimanding look, wishing he hadn't brought up Cato's brother.

* * *

The rest of dinner passed in much the same quiet manner. Azalea was relieved when she was able to clear the plates and avoid looking at her guest for a few moments. She was sure he had been uncomfortable the entire time.

When she was finished washing the dishes, she walked Cato to the front door and stepped out onto the porch with him.

"I'm sorry dinner was so weird. I wanted you to have a good time," she said, closing the door behind her.

"No, it was actually pretty good." He smiled grimly. "Better than any dinner I've had at my house in a long time."

"Is it that bad?" Azalea asked, shuddering to think what could be worse than a vengeful Clove and Titus in a bad mood.

"Sometimes." Cato shrugged, looking out on the darkening neighborhood. "I should probably be getting back."

Azalea nodded, walking over to him. "I'll see you later, okay?"

Cato reached out and grabbed her into a hug, holding her against his chest. She was surprised for a few seconds, breathing in sharply and not knowing what to do with her arms. Eventually, though, she wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head against his broad chest.

"Your brother is fine," she whispered, knowing it was bothering him.

"I know." He released her and stared into her face for the briefest of moments. "See you later."

"Night."

Azalea watched him bound down the steps and take off toward his house. She could still feel the warmth of his arms around her, staving off the slight chill of the evening. It confused her, to say the least, that he had hugged her so suddenly.

When she mustered up the courage to go back inside, she was faced with a bemused Titus.

"You and that boy have been together a lot recently," he observed, settling into his armchair.

"We're just friends, Daddy." Azalea walked toward her room, hoping to avoid any further conversation.

"No one can be friends with that boy. He's not got the heart for it."

"You don't know him." Azalea snapped, whirling on her father. "And maybe you could be a little nicer to someone I invite to the house. He was my guest."

"I did what any sane father would do around that boy," Titus said, his voice dipping dangerously low. "Now you go to bed and try to think about what you're doing."

Azalea stalked off, fuming, and slammed the door to her room. Clove was sitting smugly on her bed with a particularly wicked knife in front of her, fingering its blade.

"Don't," Azalea hissed, blowing out the candle and falling into bed.

"Watch yourself, Azalea," Clove said quietly, voice floating through the dark room. "You're out of your depth."

* * *

**That's it! This is really all until finals are over, so please REVIEW!**


	8. The Violet Hour

**Sorry for the wait, but I'm back! Exams are over and I'm officially a sophomore. I'm so glad you guys stuck with me through the last, sort of filler-ish chapter. You guys are great, and you certainly kept me going through all the work. This chapter is, as always, for you.**

**Special thanks to that0nelittl3girl, h-ellopikachu, ferb, Franlucylucci, Raven Writer, and my new reviewers StardustIsMagic and Anon4881789. The good luck wishes on finals were great, and I'm happy to have the perspectives of two new readers. It really makes my day!**

**Without much further ado, here's the update! Please review!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games. Promise.**

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The night before the Games officially began, Azalea sat on her bed in the dark. Clove had gone to sleep hours ago, but Azalea hadn't been able to close her eyes without seeing the carnage of the last Games. It wouldn't have been so bad had she not gotten a close-up view of Kellan losing his head at the Bloodbath. She had been sitting in the first row and the scene had been so real that she had imagined blood spattering her face.

Just as she was reliving Kellan's death for the fiftieth time, she saw a shadow pass over the window. Her heart hammered in her chest as she saw the outline of a person standing just on the other side of the glass. They raised a hand, moving closer, and Azalea let out a sharp gasp.

A bit of moonlight caught the edge of Cato's face, illuminating his sharp cheekbone and the corner of his jaw. Azalea relaxed just a little, realizing she wasn't in any immediate danger, and felt her fingers tremble with the ebb of adrenaline. Cato gestured for her to come outside, grinning enticingly as she shook her head. There was no way she would be able to sneak out of the house without waking either Clove or Titus; the two of them were light sleepers and prone to checking on her when they felt something was amiss.

When Azalea finally understood that Cato wouldn't leave until she joined him outside, she steeled herself and held up a finger. _Wait_. She crawled out of bed and took a jacket from the hook by the door. Doing her best to stay silent, she turned the doorknob slowly and drew the door back toward her. The hinges, mercifully, failed to squeak, and she managed to get out into the living room without alerting Clove. The rest of the house was easy to navigate, though she did step on the corner of a squeaky board that forced her to wait thirty seconds before moving again.

Emerging from the house, Azalea tiptoed across the porch and down the steps to where Cato was waiting. He smirked when she stopped before him, crossing his arms and looking down at her.

"Strange seeing you here," he said quietly.

Azalea raised an eyebrow condescendingly. "You can be an ass, you know that? What did you want me out here for, anyway?"

"Just to talk," he replied, shrugging. "I saw you were awake and figured you wouldn't mind some company."

"Why were you even at my house?" she asked, pulling her jacket on and settling it over her shoulders.

Cato merely shrugged again, turning to look off into the distance. His profile was cast in bright moonlight, making him look more handsome than usual. Azalea found herself staring unbecomingly, unable to look away from the blond boy in front of her.

"Since you're here, we might as well do something." Azalea started off toward the small copse of spruce trees that sat just behind Quarryman's Row, trusting Cato to follow. This time, she wouldn't allow him to turn their time together into an opportunity to train.

They made the trek silently, walking with their elbows nearly touching. Azalea kept her face blank, trying to avoid looking at Cato in case he would be looking back at her. His blue eyes did strange things to her thought processes, causing things to jumble and fly from her brain. The only time she managed to keep a clear head was when they were arguing, but she didn't want to fight with him.

Settling on the ground beneath a large tree, Azalea pulled her jacket closer around her and gestured for Cato to sit with her. He obliged, folding his massive frame and pulling his knees to his chest. It took a moment for conversation to bubble up between them.

"What do you think will happen in tomorrow's Bloodbath?" Azalea asked quietly, looking up at Cato with wide eyes.

"I think it will go like it usually does," he replied, frowning. "Can we not talk about the Games, though? I feel like that's all I hear anymore."

Azalea nodded, a little taken aback. She assumed that was all Cato would want to discuss, given his eminent entrance into the Games when he was eighteen. It was sort of refreshing to have him reject the topic, though.

It took her a few moments to come up with another topic of conversation. When she thought about it, she and Cato had very little to talk about besides the Academy, training, the Games, and their teasing banter. The jibes that volleyed back and forth between them were fun, but she wanted to be able to talk with him about more than that.

"Have you talked to your brother since the accident?" Azalea glanced at him, unsure how he would react to this change of subject. It wasn't exactly a commonly discussed matter.

"Yeah, I did." Cato smiled bleakly, allowing her to relax just a bit. "He's okay, but I think it shook him up."

"Understandably so," Azalea said, shifting so she was sitting against the tree trunk. "I remember the first rockslide my dad had to go through. I was nine and my mother had just gotten over her first round of fever. She was scared for weeks afterwards, thinking she would get a visit from the owner saying Titus was dead."

Cato blanched at the last part, but he managed to nod. "Sometimes I think that I'm the only one who worries about Marcus."

"What did he do that made your parents kick him out? If you don't mind me asking, that is." She realized the harshness of her question the moment it was out of her mouth, but she secretly wanted Cato to trust her enough to let her into his life.

"He decided to leave the Academy after one of his friends died in the Games. My father told him that if he quit the Academy, he wouldn't be welcome at the house." Cato brushed a hand over his face, sighing deeply. "He's been working at the quarry ever since."

Azalea grimaced apologetically, wondering what it would be like to have a parent who didn't love you. No matter what she did, be it get pregnant or quit the Academy, she knew her father would never force her out on her own. He loved her too much and knew that her mother would have been furious if he had dared treat one of his daughters horribly.

"I'm sorry. At least you still get to see him occasionally." She reached over and put a comforting hand on Cato's arm. He tensed for a moment before relaxing, looking at her with mixed emotions in his eyes. "What is Marcus like?"

"He's great, actually," Cato said, smirking fondly. "Before he moved out, we did almost everything together. When he wasn't with his friends, he was hanging out with me."

Azalea smiled. "You miss him, huh? I guess if Clove ever left, I would probably feel the same way. We fight a lot, but I don't know what I would do without her around."

Cato nodded. "It was a change, for sure. Diana and I had to get used to living without him and having all of our parents' attention." He stopped, looking as if he were about to say something else but decided against it. It seemed he was finished talking about his family.

They settled into a period of silence, Azalea's hand still resting on Cato's arm. He had closed himself off, obviously stuck inside his head, and she wasn't sure how to bring him out of it. He was the reason she was out in the middle of the night and she wanted to talk to him, but she was also content to merely sit with him if that was what he needed. Something had brought him to her window, something that he wasn't willing to share, and she wanted to be there for him.

Cato stared intently at the ground at his feet, looking at the dark soil but not really seeing it. His father had gone on another binge, the second that month. Diana had been there with them, her normally bright eyes dulled and drooping with sadness. He had done all he could to make sure Lucius hadn't gone after her, but that had involved several harsh diatribes and a few kicks to his ribs. It hurt to breathe, but he was willing to endure it if his thirteen-year-old sister was spared the pain. She wasn't a small, incapable girl, but he still felt the overwhelming need to protect her from everything.

Once his father had gone to bed, Cato had snuck out his window and headed up the street. He hadn't had any particular direction in mind, just a general urge to get away from his house. He had meandered up Quarryman's Row, following it until he reached a richer neighborhood with finer, taller houses and a paved road. A round of vicious barking from several dogs forced him to turn around and head back the way he had come.

As he had been passing Azalea's house, he saw a candle waver and finally snuff out as fingers pinched the wick. Taking the risk that it might be Clove still awake, Cato had walked over to the window of the girls' shared bedroom and peeked in. There had been no motive, no specific drive that sent him to Azalea's window, but he knew the second he saw her sitting on the bed that he needed to speak with her, even for a moment.

Now, however, he was stuck inside himself, battling the urge to tell her everything about his family. No one knew, not even his grandparents. They lived in the nicer part of town and only visited occasionally, always forcing Cato's family to meet them at the Justice Building instead of coming all the way to the house. It wasn't a pleasant topic to discuss, especially not with someone who led a better life.

"Cato?" Azalea said finally, rubbing her thumb across the skin of his arm. "Whatever it is, I'm sure you're going to be fine."

Cato blinked, staring at her like it was the first time he was really seeing her. She returned his gaze unwaveringly, the strong set to her features giving him the courage to taking her hand in his. His rough, calloused fingers gripped hers tightly, holding on like they would never let go.

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The next morning, everyone arrived at the amphitheater early. Clove had gotten Azalea out of bed at six, a full two hours before they technically had to be at the Academy. Azalea didn't complain, though her eyes were fuzzy from the late-night excursion with Cato. They had finally returned to her house around three, and after he had left she spent another hour lying in bed and staring at the ceiling. All in all, she had probably gotten fewer than two hours of sleep.

They ate a quick breakfast, saying goodbye to Titus as he emerged groggily from his room around quarter to seven. Neither girl wanted to be even remotely late, though Clove was the only one eager to get a front row seat for the big event. Given the time differences accounted for by the Capitol, the Games were set to start at nine o'clock in District 2. Every family would be pressed close to their television screens, watching and waiting to see if their tributes would be the ones to make it through the Bloodbath.

Azalea sat near the back of the amphitheater after searching for Cato in the crowd and failing to spot him. She assumed that he would come in soon, so she was content to watch the replay montage of the Parade, interviews, training clips, and tribute scores until he arrived. Talia, much to everyone's surprise, had gotten a score of nine, but Julius was the big winner with the only ten of the bunch. The boys from 1 and 7 had each gotten nines, and the rest of the field had varied from fives to eights. It was fairly obvious that the outer Districts would be facing a tough Bloodbath, but there was always room for an upset at this stage of the Games.

Just as the Capitol seal appeared back on the screens, indicating the five minute warning, Cato came striding into the amphitheater. Azalea leaned forward, waiting for him to see her, and smiled when he looked over in her direction. He stared at her for a moment, his features turning stony, and then turned abruptly toward the bottom of the stadium seating. Jason was waving up at him, gesturing for Cato to join him and Natalie in the front row. Cato went running down the stairs without another glance in Azalea's direction.

Hurt rushed through Azalea, white hot at first and leaving an ache behind. The look in Cato's eyes had been completely foreign, so hard and flat that it scared her. He wasn't the same boy from the night before, the one who had clung to her hand in the darkness of the trees. Something had changed between them, but she couldn't imagine what it was.

Before she could become indignant, the countdown for the Games began. Cameras flashed to life, a grid of twenty-four vantage points taking up the screen as an eerie, deep voice counted along with the clock that blinked in the center. Each tribute had their own camera trained on them, capturing their fear, maniac elation, and rigid determination.

When the countdown reached five, the cameras zoomed out and the screen was taken over by one large view of the Cornucopia. This year it was a large cement thing, its twisted point rising into the air with rusted iron rods sticking out of it. The arena was a dry, ruined wasteland of deserted buildings and collapsed bridges. In a way, it looked like the smoking wreckage of District 13 that often appeared on the Capitol news feed when the Districts needed reminding of the terrible Dark Days.

Azalea folded her arms over her stomach, preparing for the rush to the Cornucopia that marked the beginning of the killing. As the tributes sprang from their platforms, she leaned back against the bleacher behind her and took a deep breath. She wasn't usually squeamish, but the Games of the year before had been more brutal than the others she had been alive to witness. She had been too young to watch Enobaria's Games when they aired, but she had seen the recaps. Perhaps it bothered her so much because she had known Kellan before he left. He had only been two years older than her and their parents had been friendly, so the two of them had been pushed together on a few occasions.

The frantic stampede for supplies flashed from a thousand different angles. One view that originated from inside the Cornucopia caught Talia grabbing a short sword and slashing across the District 8 female's chest. The girl screamed and fell back, blood blooming across her dust-colored jacket. Her dark eyes stared pleadingly up at the camera, words forming on her lips as the life drained from her body. She was fourteen-years-old.

Julius grabbed a bow and its accompanying quiver of arrows, and then he swung himself up onto a box of food. From that vantage point, he was able to pick off two tributes who were sprinting for the surrounding buildings. One, the boy from 10, turned to face Julius and looked down at the arrow protruding through his chest. Just the tip was visible, but it was enough to send him into a fit of hysterics. He began crying, fat tears leaking down his already-filthy cheeks as he sank to his knees and groped at his chest. He died soon after, fingers still twitching at the fabric of his shirt.

The boy from District 7 was one of the few non-Career tributes to make it away from the Cornucopia. Azalea watched as he sprinted through the maze of broken buildings, wondering where he would stop. There would be very little water in this arena, if there was any to be found at all. Sometimes, the only sources of water were inside the Cornucopia, trapped in sealed barrels that were generally controlled by the Careers.

In the meantime, the sour-faced girl from 12 was grappling with the girl from 6. They had found a backpack on the outskirts of the Cornucopia, its contents unknown to both of them, and they knew it was important. In a swift move, the girl from 12 reached out and took hold of 6's neck. She squeezed, her thumb pressing against the girl's windpipe, and gritted her teeth determinedly. Azalea sat in shock, watching the thirteen-year-old choking the life out of a girl with little hesitation. Usually, the tributes from 12 were killed first in the Games, their training having been nearly nonexistent and the odds rarely in their favor.

After a few long, agonizing moments, the girl from 6 dropped to the ground, her hand sliding away from the strap of the black backpack. Her eyes were dull as the cameras zoomed in on her, displaying her death for all of Panem to see. Azalea could imagine the parents' horror at seeing their child lying lifeless on the ground hundreds of miles away.

By the end of the Bloodbath, Julius, Talia, both tributes from 1, and the male from 4 were left standing in the center of the arena. They had formed an uneasy alliance, probably arranged by their mentors before they set foot in the arena. Talia stuck close to Julius, her eyes scanning the others in the group warily. No one wanted to make the first move, it seemed, but someone would have to.

Finally, Julius cleared his throat and spoke up. "Get all the supplies inside that building," he instructed, pointing to the surprisingly intact shell of a former town hall. The other tributes looked at him blankly, their faces plainly expressing that they had no desire whatsoever to follow his orders.

Talia, deciding to have her District partner's back, began to gather boxes of supplies. Without a word, she carried them off to the building and disappeared through the door. With a murmur of dissent, the other Careers began to gather supplies as well, their features screwed up in anger or frustration.

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By the time the instructors dismissed the trainees for the night, eight tributes had been killed. The remaining tributes were both from 1, 2, the girl from 3, both from 4, both from 5, the boy from 6, both from 7, the girl from 9, the girl from 10, both from 11, and the girl from 12. The small boy from District 12 had been cut down last, his small cries of terror not hindering Julius in the slightest. It had ended quickly, but Azalea still hated to see such a young boy killed so mercilessly.

She was eager to get away from the Academy, her heart thudding angrily when she thought of Cato's earlier snub. She filed out with the other trainees, having tried to convince herself that she wouldn't speak to Cato even if he came and tried to apologize. Every time she thought she had him figured out or had gotten him to drop the walls that often surrounded him, he did something to dash all her hopes. He was the strangest, most confusing person she had met in her life, including the inscrutable Julius.

When she reached the road to Quarryman's Row, she heard someone coming up behind her. She sighed, knowing that it had to be Cato, and quickened her stride. It was late, she was tired, and she was in no mood for his odd excuses and erratic behavior.

"Az, will you wait up?" Cato asked peevishly, grabbing her by the wrist.

Azalea yanked away, whirling to face him. "Don't touch me."

"Come on." He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing tiredly. "I'm sorry, okay?"

"No!" she snapped. "It isn't okay, Cato. Jesus, you're an insufferable dick!"

"Hey, that isn't fair," he said, glaring at her. "I'm trying to apologize here."

"Well, I don't want to hear it. Every time I do something nice for you or think we're becoming real friends, you do something to remind me that we're never going to have that sort of relationship." Azalea tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear in a rough motion, annoyed at the entire world. "Next time you need someone to sit with you until three in the morning, don't come to me."

Cato growled quietly, wanting to grab her and shake her until some sense rattled into her brain. She had no idea how much courage it had taken for him to even look at her that morning, much less speak to her in the middle of the street. He was so ashamed of the show of weakness from the night before that his entire face turned red whenever he thought about it.

"Well, are you going to say anything, or can I go?" Azalea asked, narrowing her eyes at him.

"I'm finished," he replied, jaw clamping shut and teeth grinding harshly.

Azalea laughed, shaking her head. "You are the proudest boy I have ever had the displeasure of laying eyes on, Cato. Is that why you avoided me this morning? Did you want to protect your precious pride? I wasn't going to tell your friends that we talked last night, if that's what you thought."

Cato said nothing, choosing to stare at a point above Azalea's head until he got himself under control. All his anger and resentment seethed beneath the surface of his skin, tightening his muscles and demanding that he hurt this impudent girl. He knew that he shouldn't be mad at her, that he should in fact be thanking her for staying with him, but he couldn't help himself.

"You can't take it back now, Cato," Azalea said quietly. "I've seen how good you can be; I know what kind of person you are underneath the façade. You can't hide forever."

Leaning up to give him a soft kiss on the cheek, Azalea looked into his eyes one last time before turning and walking away.

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**Thanks for reading! Please leave me some reviews :)**


	9. The Road that Has No End

**It's been almost a week, but this chapter is finally done! I had a hard time trying to figure out what to do with this one, but I think this works. It may not be my best chapter, but it was certainly the hardest fought.**

**Thanks to all my reviewers! There were so many of you the first day I didn't know what to do with myself. Raven Writer, Nelle07, HermioneandMarcus, Nel, ferb, hazu23, Anon, Franlucylucci, Vix04, and anon, you guys rock! I can't tell you how great it is to see a new review and hear what you all think. Please leave me some reviews for this chapter! I really hope it lives up to everyone's expectations.**

**Disclaimer: Hunger Games = not mine. Cool.**

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Azalea found herself at the amphitheater later that night. She was jittery and unable to sleep, having tossed and turned for nearly an hour. The argument with Cato tormented her and refused to fade into the background. Clove and Titus had noticed how she went tacitly through dinner and gave little evidence of noticing them at all, but only Clove had been brave enough to ask what was wrong.

"What did he do this time?" Clove had said, sitting on her bed with a sigh.

"Nothing," Azalea had replied, having had enough for the day. "Go to bed, Clove."

"It's only eight o'clock. Besides, how am I going to sleep when I'm wondering what that dick did to my big sister?" Clove had smiled, albeit a rather frightening expression, and kicked at Azalea's shoe fondly. "Just tell me, okay?"

"Nothing happened. Forget it, please." Azalea had lay down on her bed, wishing that time would speed up until the entirety of her life had flashed before her. Clove had grumbled something unintelligible, probably vowing to castrate Cato or something in the same vein. Ignoring her had been the easy part for Azalea; forgetting the argument, however, was a more difficult task.

Now, Azalea was content to sit on the cool bleachers and relive every moment like a child picking at her scabs. It had occurred to her that she had guessed correctly in the matter of Cato's pride. Perhaps she was being unfair or failing to understand something vital about Cato, but she really wanted to wring his neck and tell him how stupid he was. No matter how hard she tried to get him to trust her, to see that she wanted to know everything about him, he always shied away at the last moment. She had thought the previous night had been a breakthrough, but now she knew she was wrong.

Despite all the terrifying things she knew about Cato, Azalea still managed to find it in herself to want to be his friend. For every display of anger or uncontrollable sadism, Azalea could come up with another instance in which she had seen a kinder, gentler Cato. For every bruise he had given her he had also shown a bit of himself that she guessed no one else had ever seen. The trouble with her relationship with Cato was that she had no idea what the nature of it was. He never stayed in the same mood long enough to make it clear to her.

Azalea shook her head to rid herself of all the confusing, jumbled thoughts that were piling up. The lack of sleep of the previous night was finally taking its toll on her, urging her to return to the comfort of her bed. If she hurried, she would be able to get in at least eight hours of sleep. She walked quickly away from the Academy, finding it suddenly eerie in the darkness of the night. There were no lights on in any of the buildings, and even the outside floodlights had been turned off.

She rushed toward her house, hugging herself to keep warm, and barely noticed her surroundings. However, just as she was passing Cato's house, she heard a round of shouting break out. The lights were still on but the curtains were drawn, concealing whatever was happening behind the dilapidated walls. She crept closer, wondering what on earth could be going on that required shouting, and crouched at the base of the steps.

"You're a stupid bastard! I thought I taught you a lesson yesterday, but obviously I didn't do my job right," Cato's father yelled threateningly. "I ought to smack the hell out of you."

Azalea flinched in horror, putting a hand over her mouth to muffle the gasp that threatened to come out. In any other situation she might have thought Lucius was joking, but the tone of his voice shook her down to her very bones. The man meant business, as evidenced by the cracking sound of flesh striking flesh that came moments later. Afterwards everything was silent, save for the crickets that chirped on happily, and no other blows were dealt out.

Torn between leaving to get Titus and staying to make sure nothing else happened, Azalea was just standing up as Cato burst through the front door. He was livid, his entire neck and face burning red as he stomped down the steps and kicked a potted plant across the tiny yard. His nose was bleeding, which Azalea guessed was the result of the slap, and his lip was split again. She wanted to help him but wasn't sure how he would react to her spying on him.

"Cato?" she said timidly, straightening and bracing herself against the porch railing. He turned to look at her slowly, as if in shock, and she saw his face go white as a sheet.

Cato was unable to say anything as he caught sight of Azalea standing by his porch. The anger he felt toward his father focused itself on her, urging him to grab her by the throat and demand to know what she was doing there. It took him several long moments to collect himself and be sure he wouldn't do anything rash. When he had finally gained control, he wiped a bit of blood from under his nose.

"Hey," he said in a strained voice, grimacing as the cut in his lip stretched. "What are you doing here?"

"I was on my way home from the Academy and saw your lights on. Well, that and I heard your dad yelling." She walked over to him slowly, afraid he might change his mind and leave. "That looks ugly, Cato. Can I help you clean up?"

"I'm okay," he replied, swiping away more blood as it threatened to run into his mouth. "I'm just going to go for a walk and then I'll clean it up myself." He turned to go, broad shoulders straightening themselves proudly. Azalea rushed across the last few feet that lay between them, grabbing his arm and refusing to let go when he tugged away. "I'm fine! Just…leave me alone."

"Stop trying to run away from me," she ordered, doing a little hopping step to get in front of him. "I'm not going to let you ignore me anymore. Now, I understand that you don't want to talk about what just happened, okay? All I want to do is help you get rid of the blood and disinfect the cuts before they get something in them. Can we do that together?"

Cato looked down at her, an expression of incredulity spread across his features. This girl who he had attacked and ignored still wanted to help him after everything he had done to her. Unable to express the immense gratitude that was welling up in his chest, Cato said, "You're talking to me like a kid, you know."

Azalea cracked a small smile. "Yeah, I know. Now come on, let's get you fixed up."

They walked to her house, Azalea holding onto his arm the entire way. She had him sit on the front steps, not wanting to have to explain to her father or Clove what she had been doing or why Cato was there. When she reemerged from the house with a medical kit, Cato frowned and propped himself against the railing.

"Seriously? Can't we just pour some peroxide on it?" Cato asked tiredly.

"Be quiet or you'll wake my family," Azalea chastised, settling down beside him. "I promise this won't take too long."

She set about finding some gauze and pouring a disinfectant over it. Knowing it would sting, she muttered an apology before putting the wet gauze to Cato's cuts. He let out a quiet curse as the burning liquid hit his lip, wanting to throttle someone. No, not someone—his father. The beatings were becoming more frequent, and now Lucius was trying to involve Diana.

Azalea finished wiping away the blood and inspected the clean cuts. She thought they would need sealing, so she grabbed a nondescript white jar out of the kit and dipped her finger into its contents. Cato jerked away from her when he saw the clear gel, but she grabbed his chin and applied the sealant all the same. He glared at her resentfully, knowing the gel would harden and annoy him for weeks.

"Finished," Azalea announced, closing the jar and replacing it.

"Did you have to do the sealant?" Cato grumbled, poking at his already-stiffening lip. Azalea nodded, smirking at the expression on his face.

"Let's call it payback for this morning. Now that's forgotten." She held out her hand, waiting for him to shake on it. He did so grudgingly, gripping her hand a little tighter than necessary. The smile fell from her face, turning the situation more serious. "Are you okay, Cato?"

"I don't really want to talk about it," he replied quietly, looking out across the lawn. Azalea nodded, running her fingertips across his back comfortingly. He seemed content to let her sit with him, so she leaned her head against his arm and closed her eyes. They breathed together in silence for a long time, Cato lost in thought and Azalea feeling very connected to the moment at hand. Neither of them wanted to break the calm that had settled around them.

Finally, after Cato had felt Azalea yawn multiple times, he reached for her hand and squeezed it softly. She sat up and looked him in the eye, waiting for any sign that he was about to let her in.

"I've kept you up late twice in a row now." Cato grimaced tightly. "For the same reason, I guess. You should go to bed, though. I'll be okay for tonight."

"Will you?" she asked skeptically, noticing the haunted look on his face. "Because I kind of get the impression that you won't."

He sighed and pushed himself to his feet tiredly. "How about we pick this pity party back up tomorrow? I'm sure everything will still be there then."

Azalea frowned and got up as well, not wanting to leave him when he was so obviously in need of company. "Cato, are you sure? I feel bad going to bed when you're like this." She moved in to hug him, wrapping her arms loosely around his waist and pressing her face against his thin t-shirt.

He nodded, resting his chin on the top of her head for a few moments before backing away. "I'm fine. I'll see you at the Academy tomorrow."

"Is it even okay for you to go home?" she asked, putting a hand on his chest.

"Really, it'll be fine." He smiled quickly and without humor, wanting to get back to his house before the anger bubbled up again. When she nodded in understanding, he turned and began the short walk home.

"Don't kill any more plants!" Azalea called after him, causing him to crack a real smile. She saw him toss up a rude gesture and grinned in spite of herself. When had she ever had so much excitement in her life? Just hanging around Cato for a couple of months had shifted her world so much that she thought it would never be the same.

* * *

The next day in the amphitheater, Cato took a seat next to Azalea, who smirked happily. She didn't say anything about the night before, just nudged him with her leg and reclined against the bleachers. He wanted to thank her, to mention how much he appreciated what she had done, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, he leaned back next to her and sighed heavily. The Capitol seal appeared moments later, flashing to Claudius and Caesar at their news desk.

Two more tributes had been killed overnight by the band of Careers. They showed quick replays of the deaths like they were a particularly good moment in a sporting event, which Azalea supposed they were. The girl from 12, armed with her backpack that contained only an empty canteen, had been slashed to ribbons by Talia as she lay under a rusty, gutted car. She hadn't even woken up before Talia took the first swipe, forcing her to scream herself awake as blood flowed into the sand. The boy from 5 died at the hands of the male from 4, whose name was Callum. His end was not particularly bloody, which made a few of the trainees at the Academy cry out in disgust. They wanted a bigger show, more carnage. Callum, everyone was saying, lacked flair.

Cato watched the Games absently, his mind drifting to what he was going to say to Azalea about his father. There was no way she wouldn't bring it up again, even in passing. He could see the hurt in her eyes when he had turned around with a bloodied face, which meant that she would want to know how long and how often this had been going on. She had seen his split lip before and would put two and two together before long.

Meanwhile, Azalea kept herself forcibly engaged, hoping it would keep her mind off Cato and his abusive father. She watched as the Careers went on small patrols through the bombed city, some of them staying behind while others searched buildings for hiding tributes. They came close to the boy from 7, who was hiding underneath the floorboards of a burned house. Julius stepped right over his hiding place, shown in a split screen, and kept going until he felt the house was secure. The boy was lucky and had managed to keep his breathing quiet, which was a miracle considering the large amount of fear and adrenaline that must have been coursing through him.

Around one in the afternoon, the Careers gathered at the Cornucopia to discuss strategy. None of them had made a kill that day, which angered some and suited others just fine. Talia was content to sit atop a mound of empty crates and eat an apple. Julius, however, was storming around with a look on his face that would curdle milk.

"You're all worthless!" he shouted suddenly, whipping around to glare at the tributes from one and four. "Why the fuck do I keep you around, huh? All you're doing is eating my food and drinking my water."

"It's been a day, Julius. Calm down." Talia hopped down from her perch and strode over to him, propping a hand on her hip as she chewed the last bit of apple. "We'll find the others soon enough."

"Who said you were the one keeping us around?" snapped Callum, the boy from 4. "I don't remember putting you in charge here. Any one of us could kill you in a second."

Julius turned his burning gaze to Callum, his jaw tensing as he stared at the ignorant tribute. "Fight me, then." He grabbed a knife out of his belt and shed the thin jacket he wore. Squaring off against District 4, he let out an angry snarl. "Go on. Fight me."

Callum picked up the barbed club that had become his weapon of choice from where he had dropped it upon arriving at the Cornucopia. He tested the weight of it in his hand, looking at Julius as if to judge the outcome. The boys began circling each other, inching closer and closer until they were within arm's reach. The other Careers stood back and watched the spectacle, sticking close to the small weapons cache that lay just inside the Cornucopia's mouth.

Azalea inhaled sharply, watching the boys lash out at each other at the same moment. Julius dodged Callum's first blow and slashed with his knife, creating a long cut across Callum's stomach. Callum grunted and struck again, this time landing a solid hit on Julius's left arm. The barbs on the end of the club caught and tore into the skin, creating ragged gashes down Julius's forearm. To his credit he didn't flinch, managing to keep his composure even as small ribbons of flesh hung from him.

In a rage, Julius grabbed the club with his hand and wrenched it away from Callum, tossing it aside like it was a piece of debris. Now, unarmed and with little obvious hand-to-hand skills, Callum's mouth gaped like the fish his District was responsible for catching. He looked as if he was about to speak, to call everything off, but Julius was in no mood to hear anything. With one clean motion, Julius stabbed his knife into Callum's skull, pushing until the hilt slammed against bone. Callum didn't even have time to blink before he slumped to the ground, dead. The cannon went off seconds later.

"Come on," Julius said, spitting on the body. "Let's move out so they can collect this piece of shit." He strode away, not bothering to look over his shoulder and see that the other tributes followed him. If it hadn't been before, his reputation as leader was firmly cemented with the knife that protruded from Callum's shocked face.

* * *

The rest of the day had been taken up with more searching, which hadn't yielded any results. The boy from 7 was still safely hidden under the floorboards, though he couldn't remain there for long. Soon he would have to find food and water, but his strategy was obviously to lull the Careers into a false sense of security about the house he was staying in.

Azalea was happy to get away, having seen four replays of Callum's death in just a few short hours. Claudius and Caesar were unable to stop talking about the "furious, graceful power" with which Julius had killed Callum. They said it reminded them of the 61st Games, in which a tribute from District 8 had killed a member of his alliance.

Julius had wowed everyone, it seemed, because soon after the killing he had received his first parachute. Inside was a healing cream, which he quickly spread over the gashes in his arm. They looked to be infected, but the cream would soon solve that. Azalea wondered where it had come from but knew that she would never find out. The Academy had a policy of not sending parachutes to its tributes, deciding that it would be unfair to whichever tribute did not receive a package. Though there was always a possible winner in mind, the Academy did not like to choose favorites.

As Cato and Azalea walked slowly toward Quarryman's Row, Azalea put out a hand to stop their progress. Cato looked down at her, a slight twinge of fear shooting through his gut, and prepared himself for the volley of questions that would surely follow.

"Your lip looks better," Azalea said quietly, reaching up to inspect his face. She had to stand on tiptoe to see the cut on his nose, but she was rewarded with a scab that meant it was healing properly. "Does it feel okay?"

Cato nodded. "Thanks again…you know, for helping me out." He looked off into the distance for a few seconds, trying to figure out what to say. "I would appreciate it if you wouldn't say anything to anyone. I wasn't really planning on letting anyone know."

"Somehow that doesn't surprise me." Azalea bit her lip. "You wouldn't have told me, would you? If I hadn't found out on my own, you would still be acting like you and Jacob were having boxing matches on the sly."

"Probably," Cato admitted, cracking his knuckles distractedly. "Look, I don't want this to change anything. I'm not looking for pity."

"Good, because you won't get any," Azalea said, smacking him lightly on the arm. "Not that I'm supporting any form of unnecessary violence, but you could totally take your dad! Why do you let him do that to you?"

"Because…I guess…," Cato began, trailing off. "I don't know, okay? I guess I just figure it's easier that way." He saw that she was about to retaliate and held up a hand to cut her off. "I'm done with this for today. I mean it."

Azalea bit her tongue, keeping her comments to herself. As much as she wanted to scream at Cato and punch his father in the groin, she knew that what he needed was a distraction. "Fine, I get it. I don't like it, but I understand. Do you want to go into town for a while? Get your mind off things?"

"Maybe some other time," Cato replied, shifting his shoulders. "I have to go meet Marcus at the quarry."

"Okay," Azalea said, nodding. "Have a good time with your brother."

Cato smiled wanly, turning to go. As if just remembering something, he glanced over his shoulder. "Can we start training this weekend?"

"You really want to do that _now_?" Azalea asked incredulously. When he nodded, she sighed and shook her head. "You beat anything, you know? Fine, how about Saturday morning?"

"Eight o'clock it is." He waved and took off at a jog toward the quarries. "See you tomorrow!"

"Yeah," Azalea said quietly. "Tomorrow."

* * *

**There you have it! Hope you all liked it. Please shoot me some reviews, they make my day!**


	10. To Whom It May Concern

**This quick update is your reward for sticking with me through that last chapter! I know it wasn't quite up to par, but I'm hoping this is a juicy enough treat to make up for it. This is my longest chapter yet, and it features more of our lovely Clove.**

**Reviews-I'm actually going to reply this time!**

**_anon_: Thanks so much for reading all the way in Indonesia! I really appreciate the review.**

**_ferb_: Your reviews are awesome because you almost always include something for me to think about. This chapter is definitely indebted to you!**

**_Nel_: Thanks for thanking me! I hope I've gotten the mix of light and dark pretty well balanced. Here's the training you fear!**

**_Raven Writer_: You rock! Thank you for your reviews and I'm always flattered.**

**_Vix04_: Hope this update was speedy enough for you!**

**_Franlucylucci_: I get the impression that the last chapter wasn't your favorite, but I hope this one does better.**

**_The Schemestris_: I'm assuming there are two people on that review, so I'll reply separately. Thank you so much for the compliments! I'm honored.**

**_The Deadly One_: You're very kind! Thanks so much :)**

**That's it guys, swear. Thanks so much for reading, and please review! Disclaimer: The Hunger Games in no way belongs to me.**

* * *

Saturday arrived much too quickly for Azalea. The morning was hot, humid, and foreboding, promising many things and none of them good. She rolled out of bed quietly, trying to avoid any questions from Clove, and grabbed the bag of gear she had packed the night before. For luck, she had included a few of her own knives and one special blade that really belonged to Clove. This knife curved sharply like a miniature scimitar, a type of sword that had been used in the days far before Panem had been dreamed into existence. They had learned about these swords at the Academy as part of their weapons history course, which was the only class Azalea and Clove enjoyed equally.

"Where are you going so bright and early?" Clove asked, causing Azalea to flinch. "It's Saturday, in case you hadn't noticed. We don't have to go to the Academy until three o'clock."

Azalea faltered, torn between trying to lie and telling Clove part of the truth. If she got caught lying, the torture would be much worse in the end, especially since it involved Cato. Deciding go with a half-truth, Azalea sighed as if pained. "I wanted to get some training in because we haven't been working out at the Academy lately. I've got nothing to practice on."

Clove sat up in her bed, flashing a feral grin that meant danger. "Why didn't you say anything? You know I've been dying to throw knives at you for years."

"Clove, being outside the training center never stopped you before." Azalea kept her face calm while panic began to build in her chest. "It won't be anything too exciting."

"Fuck that, I'm coming." Clove shot out of bed and began gathering everything she would need for a morning of torturing her sister. Pausing in her manic tossing of clothes, Clove looked up to ask, "Should I bring brass knuckles?"

"No, that is one thing you should leave at home," Azalea said firmly, touching the place on her back that Clove had struck the last time she had tried out her brass knuckles. "Do you really want to come? You always say how much you hate to spar with me."

"That's because you don't try and I hate beating you in two seconds." Clove bent over to tie one of her shoes, long hair falling over her shoulder in a dark curtain. "If you think I'm missing watching you be motivated for even one minute, you're kidding yourself."

"Am I really that disinterested?" Azalea muttered to herself. First it was Cato telling her she didn't try, and now Clove was taking a crack at her. Who was next, Titus? "If you're coming, you have to promise not to pull a stunt like our last private training session."

"Oh please," Clove said, rolling her eyes. "Just because you don't know how to escape from a garrote doesn't mean I'm not allowed to use one. Now shut up and come on."

Azalea trailed grudgingly after Clove, staring at the ground and hoping dearly that Cato wasn't already waiting for her. It would be hard enough to explain to him why Clove was joining their session, but explaining to them both at the same time would be miserable. Just the idea of it sent her intestines writhing and caused a bit of bile to rise into the back of her throat. When they reached the Academy doors, Azalea crossed her fingers and stepped into the gym right behind Clove. She had closed her eyes, hoping to open them and see that nothing was wrong, but before she got the chance Clove was cussing a blue streak.

"Why the hell does he have to show up everywhere we go? Sometimes I think he follows us," Clove grumbled, giving Cato a nasty look as she walked around the edges of the mats toward the changing rooms. "Look at him stretching. Jesus, it's like he thinks he's a real athlete."

"Clove," Azalea reprimanded tiredly, lifting her eyes to the heavens as if to ask for guidance. When she looked back down, Cato was watching her out of the corner of his eye, obviously wondering what Clove was doing there with her. She shrugged to convey her helplessness and slipped into the changing rooms after her sister.

"Selfish fucking prick. I bet he's going to take up the entire mat with those stupid friends of his," Clove complained as she put on a tight running shirt.

"Friends?" Azalea asked, whirling to face her sister.

"Yeah, Jacob, Natalie, and that other bitch whose name I always ignore." Clove smirked devilishly. "Oops, I meant _forget_."

"Are they here?" Azalea changed into her shirt and shorts quickly, pulling her hair out of the collar. "I didn't see them."

"They were over by the weight machines. Do I have to worry about you being blind as well as ambitionless?" Clove asked snidely.

"You hush," Azalea bit back, managing to let some of her fear turn into snappishness. "I'm only going to say this once, so you need to listen. Cato offered to help me train so I can beat the girls in my division next term during exams. He's doing me a favor and I expect you to be nothing but nice to him."

Clove remained expressionless for a few seconds, staring her sister blankly in the eye. "You're up at quarter to eight, ready to train, armed with knives so you can meet Cato. Really? And you let me drag myself here thinking it was going to be you and me."

Azalea sighed, pressing lightly against her temples to ward off the first headache she had ever gotten before noon. "I'm sorry, Clove, but I didn't think you were going to insist on coming with me. He and I agreed a few days ago that we would meet this morning and I was going to leave before you woke up."

"So you're sneaking around with him," Clove said darkly, eyebrows furrowing. "That's a great way to make be believe he's a good guy. Way to go."

Throwing up her hands, Azalea began braiding her hair tightly to her head. "You know what? Fine. If you want to play this Poor Clove game, I'm going to go out there. I'm freaked out enough as it is, especially now that we have an audience. You can either come out and train with us or leave."

Clove softened slightly, folding her arms and slouching against a locker. "Don't let those dicks out there psych you out. You're better than they are." She smirked lightly. "If they do anything mean I can always stab them for you."

"Thanks, Clove. That means a lot." Azalea reached out to hug her sister, only to receive an elbow to the gut. "So much for that."

"Let's go," Clove ordered, marching through the doors with her pony tail swinging. All Azalea could do was follow her and hope nothing bad was going to happen.

As she strode over to Cato, Clove looked more like a Peacekeeper than a trainee. Her posture was rigid and her face was set stonily, betraying nothing of what she was going to say. Azalea held back and readjusted her shoes, wanting to avoid a scene if at all possible. Cato could take care of himself.

"I have two rules," Clove said loudly. "One: you don't hurt my sister. Two: I get to punch the hell out of you if I don't like something you've done. Do we agree on those terms?"

Cato chuckled and looked down at the small, lithe girl in front of him. "And what do I get to do if I don't like what you do?"

"Whine somewhere else," Clove replied.

"Then I have no choice but to accept," Cato said, the tone of his voice dipping into condescending territory. "If you're good, I'll give you a lollipop."

Azalea began to say something in warning, but it came too late. Clove let out a scream of outrage and landed a solid jab to his throat before anyone could make a move. Cato started to gasp, but it soon turned into a wheezing laugh that meant he had gotten the desired reaction from her.

"Jesus Clove," Azalea sighed. "Already?"

"He agreed to the terms, right? And I didn't like what he said." Clove shrugged, moving off toward the treadmill for a warm-up. She climbed on and started doing a walking lap without once looking back or showing any sort of remorse.

"Did you have to bring the attack dog?" Cato asked genially, rubbing at his throat with a grin on his face. "Her bark is definitely not worse than her bite."

"I've warned you before about provoking her," Azalea replied without a bit of sympathy. "You're the one who decided teasing her was a good idea."

"What's she doing here?" Cato pulled his arm across his chest in a stretch and raised his eyebrows. "I didn't get the impression the two of you were training buddies."

"Neither were you and I before today," Azalea pointed out. "And I could ask the same thing about your friends. Did they show up on their own?"

"Yeah, actually. They were already here this morning when I came in." Cato gave a quick wave as Jacob caught them staring. "I don't think they're too happy you're here, though."

Azalea frowned, taken aback. "Why? It's not like I'm using their machines."

Cato sighed. "Natalie has been getting pretty pissed at me for hanging out with you so much. She thinks you're distracting me or something. And Jacob does pretty much whatever Natalie says because she can be a bitch. That leaves Laine, who is one of the biggest sheep I've ever known."

Azalea laughed incredulously. "So I'm supposed to be a bad influence on _you_? That's rich, considering you keep me up for hours and get me to say more curse words in one sentence than I've said my whole life."

"That isn't my fault," Cato disagreed, though his smirk belied his seriousness. "It doesn't matter anyway. I don't really care what they think and neither should you."

"Easier said than done," Azalea muttered darkly. "So what are we going to do first?"

"Cardio." Cato grinned at her distasteful expression. "We talked a while ago about your lack of endurance. If you're going to ace all those exams, you need to be in better shape."

"If I didn't know better I'd say you were calling me fat." Azalea glared at him with mock suspicion, stretching her legs in a lunge as they made their way over to the elliptical machines set up in the corner of the vast gym. "You're going to kill me, aren't you?"

"That's the plan." Cato set her up on the machine and made sure she was comfortable with the settings before moving on to a treadmill. He started at a light jog, looking at Azalea over his shoulder to check that she was actually working. She grimaced and stuck out her tongue, putting her hands over the heart monitoring sensors before starting to move her feet.

As Cato began increasing the speed of his treadmill, Jacob climbed onto the machine next to his. They ran in silence for a few moments, aware of each other but not wanting to have the first word. Finally, Jacob cleared his throat. "What's with the girl?"

"Which girl?" Cato replied, ramping up the speed again.

"Fuck you, man! The one dying on the elliptical behind you," Jacob exclaimed quietly. "The one you've been hanging out with for a while instead of me and Nat."

"I never hang out with Nat." Cato wiped at his brow even though it was dry. "Did she say that we did?"

"That isn't my point." Jacob jumped and placed his feet on the stationary sides of the treadmill so he could speak more easily. "I'm not saying this because Nat told me to, okay? This is because I've trained with you on and off for the past four years and I know how close you are to being ready for the Games. Ever since you started hanging out with her, I've noticed your focus slipping. How many times have you been smacked around by Thaddeus in the past few months? Way more than you ever were before her, that's for sure. I know how much you want to be a Victor and I won't let you mess that up for some second-rate trainee you've only just noticed this year."

Cato gritted his teeth and kept running to drown anger that started in his chest and threatened to spill out his mouth. He and Jacob had been friends for a long time and he didn't want to throw that away. "Thanks for your concern, man, but I don't need it."

"Sure," Jacob snorted, stepping onto the belt again and faltering for just a moment before regaining his stride. "Say goodbye to that house in Victors' Village."

"Keep talking, Jake," Cato muttered, shaking his head. "Make me punch you."

"You wouldn't be able to get close now that you've gone soft," Jacob teased. "Spend some more time in the gym, youngblood, and then you can come after me."

"Whatever."

* * *

When Cato had decided Azalea had had enough for one day, he grabbed her off the elliptical and went through a short series of weight training. She laughed at the idea of ever being able to lift at the level he did, but she attacked the tasks set for her with a decent amount of amiability. Cato kept one eye on her and the other on Jacob, Natalie, and Laine. They were going through their own workouts, which involved extreme sets of abdominal exercises and a hundred pushups, but he didn't trust them to stay silent.

Clove wandered over as Azalea was doing a set of fifteen on the leg press. "You've got too much weight on there, dumbass."

"How motivating," Azalea grumbled, swatting Clove's hand away as she tried to adjust the amount of weight attached to the pulleys. "I've got this under control, thanks."

"Your legs are shaking," Clove continued, pointing to Azalea's trembling quads. "It would be better to use less weight and do more reps. That's how you tone muscle instead of gain it."

"Maybe I want to gain muscle," Azalea replied testily. "Cato, do I want to gain muscle?"

Cato looked over from where he was doing pull-ups at the bar. "I don't know. Do you?"

"You're a shitty trainer," Clove snapped. "Aren't you supposed to be helping her?"

"She knows how to use weights, demon child. We all do that during training." Cato dropped from the bar and strode over. "I figured she knew how much weight she usually used."

"I'm still here." Azalea stuck up her hand like she was in class. "Can I speak for myself? I went up five pounds because it wasn't challenging anymore, okay? This whole having two trainers thing is freaking me out. I can handle this part on my own."

Cato and Clove looked at her for a moment before turning glares on each other. Without another word, they turned away and went in opposite directions, Clove to the barbells and Cato back to the pull-up bar. Azalea sighed and continued her leg presses, taking care to go slowly and make sure every muscle worked in the correct way. The Academy instructors had taught them the proper function of each machine and how the muscles were supposed to feel when they were being exercised in the right way. That wasn't want she needed help with; she wanted to have a sparring partner who would challenge her.

After sessions on two more machines, Cato decided that they should go ahead and move to the mats. Clove was right behind them and insisted that she be included in whatever exercises they did. Jacob, Natalie, and Laine took up residence on an adjacent mat. Jacob wanted to watch Cato's interaction with Azalea, and Natalie wanted to intimidate them as much as possible. Cato would have tried to put a stop to it, but it would have been a futile effort and Azalea needed to get used to people watching her.

"Okay," Cato said slowly, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. He seemed to be at a bit of a loss.

"Oh I can't wait to see this," Clove muttered quietly, nudging Azalea in the ribs. Azalea ignored her, trying to stop herself from looking over at Natalie. The girl was pretending to spar with Jacob, but all Azalea saw her do was stare a hole in Cato.

"Let's try some boxing." Cato jogged over to one of the many racks of equipment that lined the room and grabbed a couple pairs of boxing gloves and two pads. Clove's eyes lit up as he brought them over and handed the gloves to her and Azalea. A sense of discomfort wormed its way into Azalea's mind as she watched her sister pull on the gloves and tighten them expertly.

"I'll go first," Clove announced, hopping forward and doing a bit of fancy footwork.

"This whole thing isn't one big chance for you to beat me up," Cato warned, glancing at Azalea over Clove's head. "Your sister and I are supposed to be working out."

"You two can make out later. Now put up your hands or I'll break that pretty face of yours." Clove ignored the slight twitch in Cato's right eye, but Azalea felt sick because of the offhand comment. There was no way Clove could know about Cato's father and hadn't meant any harm. However, Azalea knew it must have rubbed Cato the wrong way.

Cato put up his hands grudgingly, glad he didn't have any gloves of his own and was unable to smack Clove. She came at him fast and hard, ducking at his fake swings and firing punches into his pads without hesitation. He started moving his hands and having her hit at different parts of his body. It didn't feel like very long, but when they finally stopped he noticed it had been about ten minutes. Azalea was staring at both of them with wide eyes, looking a little shocked and unsure of herself.

"I don't think I can do that," Azalea said, shaking her head.

"Come on, it'll be fun," Cato cajoled, taking off the pads to wipe some sweat from his forehead. "I promise I won't give you a concussion."

"Just think of all the damage you could do," Clove offered, shrugging.

"I'll try." Azalea put on her gloves and pulled the laces tight as best she could, using her teeth on the second glove. She approached Cato slowly, hoping the session wouldn't escalate to the level of the last fiasco. "I'm going to feel silly."

"Girls who box are hot," Cato said, winking. Azalea let out a laugh before sobering and throwing a timid punch. Cato sighed and put his hands down before she could try again. The other trainees in the room snickered at her feeble attempt. "That's not even worth the price of admission. Think you can actually hit me this time, or are you going to give me another high five?"

Azalea wrinkled her nose and guarded her face. She waited until he put the pads back up before snapping her arm out in a jab similar to what she saw Clove do. The thwacking sound the leather gloves made as they connected with the pads was oddly satisfying. Azalea threw a couple more, happy with herself, before really falling into a rhythm.

"Nice," Cato murmured in encouragement, moving with her as she started shifting her feet. He moved the pads a little, forcing her to react, and began throwing fake swings above her head and to the side. She reacted well, dodging effortlessly until he surprised her by faking a jab to her head and moving with his other hand to her stomach. Her guard dropped and the blow struck her in the gut, causing her to tense and huff out a lungful of air.

Cato grimaced apologetically and took his left hand from the pad so he could rub her back while she recovered. She waved him away, insisting that she was fine and wanted to continue, but he wanted to wait a few moments. "Just breathe for a minute."

"I'm breathing now," Azalea said indignantly. "How often do the instructors let us take breaks? Never. So make me suck it up."

Cato chuckled. "Pull it together!"

"Okay!" She smiled and blew a piece of hair out of her face. "Let's go again."

* * *

Cato finally let them stop around eleven o'clock after realizing how hungry he was. He offered to put up the equipment they had used while Azalea and Clove hit the showers. They agreed wholeheartedly and ran off to the locker room, elbowing each other as they tried to squeeze through the doorway. Neither of them noticed Natalie slip in behind them.

Azalea let the warm water of the shower pummel her sore shoulders and sighed. The training session had been demanding and sometimes frustrating, but she felt better than she had in a long time. She was excited to finally have something tangible to work towards, since becoming a tribute hadn't been her motivation for regular Academy exercises. If she could ace her exams and move up a few spots in the ranking, she would feel more secure in herself.

After she had toweled off and changed back into her regular clothes, Azalea turned to look for Clove. Instead, Natalie stood in front of her with her arms crossed. "Have a good time?"

"Great," Azalea said, eyeing the girl suspiciously. Not a hair was out of place on Natalie's head and her clothes were perfectly fit to her body. Everything about her screamed that she was the daughter of a Victor, from the expensive non-Academy gear to the white teeth that gleamed each time she smiled.

"You know, I thought Cato would get tired of you eventually," Natalie said lightly. "He's dated girls before, but they don't last long."

"We aren't dating." Azalea folded her arms across her chest, willing her voice to stay steady. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"No, not really." Natalie's lips twisted darkly. "I suppose I should be grateful to you for distracting Cato. He'll still be the male tribute with me, of course, but he'll be so much easier to beat. All I'll have to do is mention you in the arena and it will be over, just like that. Then I get to come back and see your devastated face."

Azalea fumed, biting her lip in frustration. "If you think you can beat Cato in the Games, you're delusional. Good luck picking up the pieces of your shattered spine when he's done with you." Azalea pushed past Natalie with a disgusted expression, asking herself why she had ever felt intimidated by that petty, scared girl. If she was that jealous of Cato's attention, it would certainly hurt her in the Games.

Azalea emerged into the gym to find Cato talking with Jacob and Laine, both of whom looked up at her when she entered the room. She waved sarcastically, not in the mood for inter-trainee politics, and strode quickly to the main doors. Clove was at her side almost immediately, tossing one of her knives into the air over and over.

"Natalie cornered me in the locker room," Azalea said quietly as they stepped outside. "She thinks Cato and I are dating."

"No, she would like to think _she_ and Cato are dating," Clove contradicted, brandishing the knife to make her point. "Haven't you noticed her freaking out whenever he sits with you?"

"You've seen him sit with me?" Azalea asked, shocked. "Wait, never mind. No, I haven't seen her. What does that matter, anyway?"

"She just thinks you're competition." Clove shrugged and hoisted her bag of gear onto her shoulder. "I'm going back home to get lunch. Are you going to come?"

"Yeah, I'll be there in a few minutes. Do you mind if Cato joins us? Dad won't be back until six." Azalea chewed on the inside of her cheek and waited for the explosion.

"I guess so," Clove agreed, not even blinking. "See you later."

Azalea stared after her sister in complete disbelief, unsure what had gotten into her. Just a few days ago Clove had been ready to slaughter Cato for even thinking about coming into their house. There had to be some sort of trick up her sleeve.

When Cato finally came outside, Azalea ran the idea of lunch by him. He agreed hesitantly, obviously still worried about Clove even though their training session had gone fairly well. Considering all that could have gone wrong, Clove had managed to mind her manners and only punch Cato a total of five times outside of sparring. Azalea had approved of two of the punches because Cato had been openly goading her sister.

"Should I protect my face when we go inside?" Cato asked as they walked up the steps to Azalea's house. "Will there be flying knives?"

"You never know with Clove," Azalea replied. "We better go inside so she doesn't eat without us. There might not be any food left."

They went inside, surprised to find that Clove had already made three sandwiches and was just sitting down at the table. She refused to acknowledge them and arranged her napkin in her lap daintily. Cato snorted at the scene in front of him, never having imagined Clove to have any table manners worth speaking of, much less proper etiquette. Azalea forced him to stop laughing and frowned disapprovingly.

"Haven't you been punched enough for one day?" She shook her head and sat down at the table next to her sister. "Thanks for making lunch, Clove."

"Couldn't let you do it, could I?" Clove grimaced around a bite of sandwich. "Every time you make sandwiches I end up having to clean the entire kitchen."

"I'm not that messy," Azalea exclaimed, refusing to be shown in a bad light. "Who does the cooking every night, huh?"

Clove refused to answer, continuing to eat her sandwich without looking over at Cato, who was now sitting across from her awkwardly. He finally started to eat when Clove was nearly done, taking smaller bites that he normally would have so he appeared neater.

"Would you relax?" Clove exploded, glaring at Cato after five minutes of him watching his plate intently. "Jesus, we're not that scary!"

"You are," Azalea grumbled, sipping at her water to avoid further commentary.

"Screaming is a bad way of conveying how _not scary_ you are," Cato pointed out, smirking. "How hard was it to hold that hissy fit in?"

Clove gave a little moan of frustration and kicked Cato beneath the table. He winced, staring after her as she dumped her plate into the sink and stormed off to her room. Azalea stayed quiet and drank more water.

"She didn't kill me today. That's an improvement." Cato finished his sandwich and offered to take Azalea's plate to the sink. She complied, letting him take the plate from the table. When he started to wash them, however, she jumped up and put a hand on his arm.

"I'll do those, don't worry." She took the plates from his hands and set them in the sink. "I think you finally won Clove over today."

"That was definitely my goal," Cato said sarcastically. "At least she isn't dragging you off to have secret conversations about me being the Antichrist."

"She never said that," Azalea laughed, hitting Cato on the arm playfully. "She just implied that you're a horrible person."

"Same thing." Cato leaned against the counter and leaned his head back to stretch his neck. "I guess it's a good thing she was there today, though. Was it easier on you?"

"It certainly kept you in line." Azalea smiled to soften the comment. "I like having Clove around. She's not so bad when you get to know her. We fight a lot, but we're actually pretty similar."

Cato scoffed. "I think she would be a better match as my sister than yours. She's seriously focused on being a tribute."

Azalea turned to face him with an inquiring expression. "Why do you feel the need to be a tribute? Besides thinking that's your only job option. After everything your dad does, you would think fighting would be the last thing you want to do."

"It's what I know best," Cato replied. "Despite all his flaws, my dad was a pretty decent candidate for tribute in his day. He taught me from a young age how to fight and what it meant to serve your District as a tribute. I've had all that stuff drilled into me since I was a kid."

"Has he always, you know, hit you?" she asked quietly, not wanting Clove to hear.

"No, not like this. He's gotten worse with the drinking since Marcus left, but I think it started about a year after that." Cato puffed up his cheeks and let the air out slowly. "It wasn't that bad, but now he's doing it more often."

"I'm sorry, Cato." Azalea sighed, at a loss for what to say next. She could tell he was getting tired of talking about his family situation. "Thanks for this morning. It was actually sort of fun."

"No problem," Cato replied. "You did a decent job."

"Decent!" Azalea cried, pushing him playfully. "How's that for encouragement?"

Cato laughed and wrapped an arm around her shoulders genially. "You'll get better. We have a whole year before you need to be in top shape. You have a good foundation because you've been at the Academy for four years. You just need to learn how to intensify your workouts and keep the level of commitment consistent."

"Look at you, trying to be an instructor." Azalea shook her head. "Next thing I know you'll say we can't talk during the broadcast of the Games."

"Oh, that's definitely against the rules." Cato leaned in close, shaking a finger in her face. "You're a troublemaker, I can tell."

Azalea faltered for a response, noticing how blue his eyes looked from their new vantage point. It was a little difficult to draw breath, but she decided that had to be leftovers from the training that morning.

"You have no idea."

* * *

**Probably not where you want it to end, but leaving me reviews will get you closer to the next chapter! Thanks so much for reading :)**


	11. I've Got This Friend

**Yes, I realize it's been a week since I updated, but it's been a little hectic around here. I'm home for the summer and _Hatfields & McCoys_ just started, so I've been working on this pretty late every night. Thanks for sticking with me, and I can't even imagine how on earth I deserve such amazing reviewers! Thirteen! Honestly, I'm speechless.**

**There are a couple more chapters that feature the 72nd Games, and then the real action will begin. I know this setup has been pretty long, but it's all necessary. As always, thank you so much for reading, reviewing, and all the other goodness that comes along with that. You guys are seriously amazing and I don't know where this story would be without you. Probably forgotten, actually. Review replies will be at the bottom, since not everyone wants to read them! Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**

* * *

Azalea found herself caught in Cato's gaze, unable to move away or think of anything to say to break the moment. His brows furrowed as he noticed her paralysis and he was just about to say something when Clove burst out of the room she shared with Azalea.

"It's happening!"

"Wait, what's happening?" Azalea broke away, glad for the distraction, and crossed the kitchen to stand in front of Clove with her hands on her hips. Clove took little notice, pulling on her shoes in a swift motion and running for the door. "Clove, hey! What on earth is going on?"

"I heard the neighbors talking about it outside!" Clove yelled over her shoulder as she flung the door wide. "That boy from 7 is making a run on the Careers' supplies. We have to get to the Academy."

"Let's just watch it here!" Azalea called after her, sighing as Clove disappeared from sight. She turned to look at Cato, who was still standing by the sink, and shrugged her shoulders. "I guess we should go. We're due there in a couple of hours anyway."

"Race you," Cato said, grinning.

They took off running, laughing and pushing each other when one seemed to be getting a lead. In attempt to be the first one, they often pulled at and tripped each other, causing more than a little delay. Cato powered up the hill to the Academy, tugging Azalea along behind him as she tried to slow him down, and smirked when he saw the rush of Academy students flocking toward the complex. The entire group of trainees had thought along the same lines as Clove, who was shoving her way through the crowds ahead of them. Azalea took advantage of Cato's distraction and tore her hand away, sprinting for the gym building for all she was worth. She was determined to beat him like she had promised the last time.

"I think you cheated," Cato accused, running up to Azalea a moment after she had touched the cement wall of the building. "We can't call that a win."

"I can't believe you would try to take my victory away," Azalea huffed, trying to catch her breath. "If I didn't want to see what was going on with the Games I would leave right now. I'm insulted that you would accuse me of cheating." Her mouth tipped upward in a sly smirk and she elbowed him in the side.

With a chuckle, Cato escorted Azalea to the amphitheater, glaring at any younger trainees who tried to get in front of them. The entrances were packed with students trying to get into the seating area, forced into bottlenecks by the cement walls, and everyone was pushing and shoving to get a look at the screen. Cato walked over to the wall and leaned against it, content to watch the Games unfold from the very back. Azalea stood beside him, eyes widening as she caught a snippet of Caesar Flickerman's commentary.

"It looks as if the boy from District 7 has found the stash of food the alliance has stored," Caesar said in a hushed tone, as if he might alert the District 1 girl who stood, unaware, by the back door of the building. "He doesn't have any weapons, but maybe he'll get creative, Claudius."

"Indeed. We have seen many tributes in years past use their hands in situations such as these." Claudius nodded vigorously, and Azalea couldn't help but roll her eyes at his useless input.

The screen was split into three parts, the largest area being the bottom in which the boy from 7 was shown, wide-eyed and gaunt, sneaking up on the girl from 1. The two upper sections showed Julius and Talia, who had obviously gone in separate directions to hunt for victims. It appeared as though Julius had found the girl from 5 and the boy from 6, who had formed an alliance after escaping the Bloodbath. No one was watching him, though; everyone's eyes were trained on the lower half of the screen.

The boy from 7, whose name—Tanner—flashed at the bottom of the screen unobtrusively, had almost made it to the broken window. If he could crawl through the opening and grab a weapon, it would be easy to take District 1 by surprise. The only major obstacle seemed to be the remnants of broken glass that hung from the frame and threatened to make a noise if he crawled through them. Hope spread across his features as an idea dawned on him, and he began gathering pebbles and bits of rubble from the dusty street. After checking to make sure the District 1 girl was the only tribute in sight, Tanner threw what he had collected into an alley on the other side of the road that passed behind the town hall building.

District 1's head shot up at the noise and she grabbed the sword she had been carrying as a weapon. Without checking around her, she took off toward the source of the noise and ducked into the alley. Tanner leapt to his feet and ran into the building, intent on taking everything he could. The first thing he picked up was a backpack that seemed to be empty. This he filled with packages of dried meat, pieces of fruit, and a few packages of crackers. On top of these items, he took two of the large canteens of water that were placed in rows atop one of the many crates that lined the room. He seemed to realize that he was running out of time and decided to end his plundering by taking a small axe and a hunting knife.

Just as he was about to go back to his hiding place, the girl from 1 came back into the building. Tanner shouldered the backpack quickly and rushed at her, taking her by surprise. She barely had time to throw her sword up to block his attack and the blow seemed to rattle her. Despite all the training she must have received and the thought of the other Careers' retribution, the girl from 1 appeared to be breaking. Tanner sensed her hesitation and struck out again with both weapons.

"Just kill me," she whispered, dropping her sword. "Please."

The entire amphitheater went silent as Tanner grimaced and plunged his knife into the girl's stomach. Pausing long enough to twist the blade and force it further upward, Tanner bent low and whispered something to her that the microphones could not pick up. Tears leaked from her eyes and cut through the dirt on her cheeks. A final, agonized grunt forced itself from her lips when Tanner pulled his knife out of her, and she slumped against the doorframe as he sprinted from the room.

"Oh my, this certainly is a strange turn of events," Caesar cut in, breaking the intense concentration of the trainees and all other viewers. "This has to be one of the most exciting developments since Johanna Mason's victory."

"Can you believe that?" Azalea asked quietly, glancing at Cato. "She asked him to kill her."

Cato shrugged. "Younger kids and tributes from the outer Districts do it all the time. It was obvious that she wasn't going to win."

"Still. I can't believe she would give up like that." Azalea looked back at the screen, focused now on Julius as he stabbed the boy from 6 with his sword. The death toll was at fifteen, due to the deaths of the girl from 9 and the boy from 11 earlier in the day. The girl from 9 had killed the boy from 11 after seeing him run between buildings, but she was killed soon after by the girl from 10.

"Hey, what's Talia doing?" Cato asked, nudging Azalea to get her attention. "Do you see something I don't?"

Azalea squinted and shielded her eyes from the sun, which had cast an odd glare across the metal bleachers. "There's a girl in the rafters, I think. See her feet up there? You can just make out the bottom of her boots."

Cato nodded, hunching over the wall and folding his arms. Talia was climbing a rickety metal stairwell that wound up to the attic of a half-burned house. She held a stiletto blade between her teeth, ready to defend herself should the need arise, and wore a determined expression that he knew well. It was the same look she got when Jacob made fun of her or baited her into a sparring match.

The girl in the rafters, revealed by the commentators to be from District 3, was too busy eating a roasted pigeon to notice Talia coming up behind her. Talia moved slowly and quietly, stepping across the rafters gently and avoiding any suspicious boards that might squeak. In a flash, she had the knife in her hand and had grabbed the girl by the shoulder. The girl's scream was cut off as Talia shoved the stiletto into the base of the girl's skull and swirled it around. Her death was almost instant, a blessing that most tributes couldn't manage to hope for in the Games.

A smattering of applause rippled through the amphitheater, mostly from Talia's grudging supporters. Almost everyone had decided to side with Julius, who seemed the most likely to be crowned Victor, but a few had chosen Talia as a dark horse. Azalea had secretly chosen Talia out of the District 2 representatives, though she had been loath to admit it to anyone. She didn't like Julius's cold manner and the way in which he used to bulldoze his way around the Academy. Admittedly, Cato was occasionally guilty of the same things, but she was more readily able to forgive him his faults.

The screen merged into one large picture, displaying the pictures of the dead tributes over Caesar's commentary. "After six days of play, the tributes have been reduced to eight. Those remaining are Gilt from District 1, Julius and Talia from District 2, Minnow from District 4, Tanner and Calista from District 7, Rosanna from District 10, and Grace from District 11. Only four of these tributes received scores above an eight, so we will have to keep an eye on them, won't we?"

"Yes, Caesar, they seem to be the ones to watch," Claudius agreed. "Tanner from District 7 is putting up a good fight, but how will he measure up against a tribute of Julius's caliber?"

"I'm sure we will get our answer soon." Caesar's face flashed onto the screen, causing his large white teeth to become even more prominent than usual. "But before we tune back into the action, let's hear a few words from our Capitol sponsors, shall we?"

* * *

Cato and Azalea watched as the Academy students filtered out of the amphitheater, still slightly shocked by the day's events. Talia had made another kill, Calista from 7, and Julius had looked ready to murder every person in his alliance. The loss of even a small bit of food had sent him into a rage that appeared to be deadly. More than once, Julius had leveled his sword at Glint and threatened to skewer him for his District partner's weakness and ineptitude. Talia was the only calming influence, managing to talk Julius into keeping Glint around for at least another few days. She argued that it would only make sense to have another strong tribute on their side when they went looking for revenge.

With only seven tributes left in the field, the Games would progress quickly. Minnow, Rosanna, and Grace would be half starved, though Minnow had received a sponsor package of dried meats and a small bottle of water, which would have cost a fortune. Rosanna and Grace had gotten nothing, possibly owing to their low training scores and status as outer District rejects. No sponsor wanted to bet on someone from an outlying District due to their unfortunate habit of dying. The lack of available food and water would either claim the female tributes or drive them toward the Careers, which would likely be a means to the same end.

"Who knew Talia was so strong?" Azalea asked quietly, resting her back against the cool wall of the gym building. "I know she was the best of the girls in her year, but she didn't really strike me as a killer."

"She's always been a bit of a surprise," Cato acknowledged, crossing his arms. "I think she's the only one to ever beat Jake in a fight."

Azalea glanced up at him in shock. "You mean you've never…?"

Cato smirked, shaking his head. "I don't fight Jacob. That was one of the unspoken agreements before we started training together. Fighting him would mean fighting myself."

"That was either very deep or a bit conceited," Azalea said, snickering. "I can't believe the two of you have never gone at it. I could have sworn I saw the two of you spar last year."

"We goof around and have boxing matches sometimes, but we've never really fought each other, no." Cato took a deep breath, scanning the area around them. "Sometimes I really want Talia to come back from all this, you know?"

"She was your friend. It's completely natural that you would want her to win the Games instead of dying." Azalea squinted against the bright afternoon light. "Being human isn't the worst thing that could happen to you."

"You forget who you're talking to," Cato said quietly. "I'm the guy who's headed for the Games in two years. Humanity is the most dangerous thing for me to have."

"That's not true."

"It seems like that sometimes." Shaking his head, Cato pushed away from the wall and scuffed his feet in the dirt. Azalea watched him warily, catching sight of his bruised lip as he turned his head toward her. "I have to go see Marcus."

"Do you mind if I come?" Azalea asked, biting the inside of her cheek the moment the words had left her mouth. "Sorry, I know you like to see him by yourself. I just thought it might be nice…to meet him, I guess."

Cato stared at her blankly for a few moments, eyes glazed as he thought about what he would say to Marcus if he brought her with him. There would be a lot of teasing, certainly; if not in front of Azalea, Marcus would get him back later. Something in him liked the suggestion, though, and made him want to introduce the two. He had a feeling they would like each other very much. Azalea was like a breath of fresh air, something that Marcus needed badly, and Marcus was a bit more even-tempered than Cato, which would suit Azalea well.

"I think that's a good idea," Cato agreed finally. "Just to be fair, I'll warn you that he likes to poke fun at me and Diana. It'll probably be the same way with you."

Azalea grinned. "I don't mind a little bit of fun."

* * *

Marcus stood at the top of the quarry, staring out at the sunset like he did every evening. The sun was just beginning to dip low in the sky, scattering the clouds with red, pink, and orange stains, and a cool breeze was drifting across the rocks. He had heard what had happened in the Games that day, having gotten an update from the secretary who manned the main offices. Nothing irked him more than hearing that a District 2 tribute was throwing fits. It happened every couple of years, usually with a male tribute who had studied at the Academy all his life and felt entitled.

"Hey!" a voice called from behind him, jolting him from his contemplation of how he might have fared in his Games, the 69th. He turned, seeing his little brother coming up the path with a girl in tow, and felt a grin break across his features.

"Well, if it isn't my baby brother," Marcus drawled, putting up a hand to shield his eyes. "Who is that with you, kid?"

Cato waited until they were within a few feet of his brother before answering. "This is Azalea." He paused, giving his brother a meaningful look. "She goes to the Academy with me."

"Nice to meet you, Marcus," Azalea said, smiling a holding out a hand. They shook and sized each other up. "I hear you work in the same quarry as my dad. He's one of the supervisors, but he usually works alongside his men."

"You're Titus's girl?" Marcus asked, whistling lowly when she nodded. "He's a good man. I can't believe he would let you near my little brother, though." Cato scowled, kicking a bit of dust up at his brother's legs.

"We're just friends," Azalea clarified, feeling her neck turning red. "He's a little skeptical, but I think he'll come around. Cato isn't _that_ bad."

"Okay, that's enough of you two badmouthing me," Cato cut in. "I didn't bring you two together to commiserate."

"But who else do I have to complain to?" Marcus asked, grinning wickedly. "She's pretty, Cato. How'd you get her to put up with your crap long enough to become friends?"

"I'm a bit more charming than you give me credit for." Azalea scoffed, covering her mouth with a hand when Cato turned a glare in her direction. "Maybe your antisocial behavior didn't rub off on me."

Marcus laughed and sighed tiredly. "Kid, when you've been through what I have, we'll talk. Until then, you leave me to my own devices. Now, Azalea, what do you plan on doing with your Academy training? Peacekeeper or tribute?"

"Neither, actually," Azalea replied, shrugging. "I'm going to do something else that doesn't involve the possibility of dying."

"You let me know when you find that job." Marcus winked. "I want to work there, too."

"I certainly will."

Marcus studied her for a moment, pretending to think about something. "You know, I think the two of us need to spend more time together."

"Oh?"

"Yes, we're definitely going to be good friends. Especially if you keep taking care of my brother. He can't take another fat lip." Marcus chucked Cato lightly under the chin and turned his head to inspect the split lip. "Looks like you got that cleaned up pretty well."

"I guess so. I'd like to get to know you better," Azalea said, eyeing Cato to gauge his reaction to Marcus's prodding. "Anyone who can keep Cato this quiet is fine in my book."

Cato frowned, tugging his face away from his brother's hand. "Just don't let her invite you to dinner. Her little sister is a harpy."

"How do you stand him?" Marcus asked, grabbing his little brother in a headlock. "Is he always this rude to your family?"

"Trust me, Clove deserves it. They have a bit of a feud going on." Azalea bit back a grin as the two brothers tussled, laughing behind her hand. "I've got to be going, but I just wanted to say hello and talk with you a little bit."

"It was good to meet you, Azalea," Marcus said, letting Cato go. "Keep this one in line, will you?"

"I'll do my best." Azalea waved and turned to go, surprised when Cato caught up with her a few minutes later.

"He likes you," Cato said matter-of-factly, falling into step beside her and shoving his hands into his pockets. "He also said you're too good to be hanging around me."

"I bet he was teasing," Azalea informed him jokingly, nudging him with her shoulder. "Marcus seems happy. It was interesting to see you two together. I like knowing I'm not the only one with an odd sibling relationship."

"Yeah, well, now you'll have to meet Diana. She's the normal one of the three of us." Cato chuckled, shaking his head. "I guess the four of us can have lunch sometime."

"What about Clove?" Azalea asked.

"Maybe leave her at home?" Cato jumped away when she smacked his arm. "Okay, okay. Bring your crazy sister, but disarm her first."

"I think I can do that." Azalea put her arm through Cato's and enjoyed walking with him in quiet companionship.

* * *

**There you have it! I hope you guys enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.**

**Now, for replies:**

_Nelle07:_ You will have to stay tuned to find out what happens with the future Games!

_anon:_ Wow, two reviews! I certainly don't mind you being impatient, it's actually rather motivating. Sorry this took a bit longer than the others.

_Vix04:_ Thank you! I'm glad you still like it :)

_Anonymous:_ Wow, that honestly leaves ME speechless! Such kind, amazing words!

_StardustIsMagic:_ I totally understand about finals, they really do suck up all your time. I'm glad you like what I've done with Clove, and I really love writing scenes with her and Cato. Don't despair yet!

_Franlucylucci:_ Well, here it is! Hope you like it!

_ferb:_ By all means, keep commenting on Clove! She's actually my favorite to write, which sounds bad because it's a Cato/OC story. Please keep sending me suggestions or things you're a little confused about, it really helps me churn the chapters out!

_mudsticks:_ I understand, school is always hectic. I'm glad I could clear a few things up for you and hope you keep enjoying the Clove bits!

_Nel:_ Yes, Cato can be a little unpredictable when it comes to bouts of rage. Here's your update!

_anon:_ I assume you're a different anon from before? It's very hard to tell! I know it takes me a while sometimes, but I work on the chapters at night, usually after eleven. Sometimes I get them done in one night, but most of the time it's a collaboration of a few nights' work. Hope this is what you wanted!

_Vintage Assassins:_ That's a great name, I really like it. Is there something special behind it? Schemestris: Thank you! I thought Cato deserved a backstory. Silent One: I'm glad it comes off that way. Sometimes I feel like everything is jumbled. Chameleon: Wow, thank you. I really appreciate that, it's high praise.

_Raven Writer:_ I'm sorry! I didn't mean to ruin them, I swear. There are so many good ones out there-check out Not All of Me Shall Die or Diamond in the Rough, if you haven't already. fortes fortuna iuvat and StardustIsMagic are amazing! I still stand by what I said last time: You rock! I really appreciate your reviews.

**Okay, I'm done. Phew! Thanks so much guys, really. I don't even know how to express how awesome you are.**


	12. Tip of My Tongue

**Hello, and happy Tuesday! Apparently this is going to be a trend, my updating on Tuesdays, though this is a bit earlier. Sorry again for the delay, but this is a HUGE chapter! Sort of. It's nearly 6,000 words and took a while to write, but I like it. Hope you do, too! Plenty of events in this one, so enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**

* * *

Sunday was a jumble of training and hurried meals. Azalea was sore from the day before and could barely manage twenty minutes on the elliptical, but Cato understood. The beginning was always hard, even if training was a part of daily life, and he remembered all too well the ache of overused muscles and compressed bones. He had treated Azalea with relative kindness, only pushing her so far before allowing her to rest, and toned down his own workout to compliment hers.

They broke for lunch at half past noon, jogging to Azalea's house and eating with Clove. At first, Clove had questioned Cato's presence there, wondering exactly what was going on, but she managed to swallow her resentment. Their meal was pleasant, if not a bit rushed, and Cato emerged from the small house without any new battle scars.

"Well, what are we going to do now?" Azalea asked, sitting on the topmost step of her porch. Cato settled two steps below her and shrugged, resting his head against the railing. "I don't think I can handle any more exercise, to be honest."

"We'll work out again tomorrow," Cato replied, attempting to assuage her obvious fear of forced activity. Upon seeing that his reassurance was only discouraging, he grinned and allowed a short laugh to escape. "You'll never improve if you take breaks just because you're sore."

Azalea scoffed. "Oh, yeah, just that pesky feeling of imminent loss of consciousness. I'll push through that."

"Don't be melodramatic." Cato sighed, looking across the dirt road at the house that lay opposite Azalea's. The door was open to let the breeze in and the sound of children playing wafted from inside. It almost made him nostalgic. Almost.

"Sheesh, it's hot out here," Azalea said, fanning herself halfheartedly. "I wish there was more shade on the Row."

"We could go somewhere else," Cato suggested, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. "I'm not really in the mood to hear the Games broadcast today."

Clove was watching the Games inside with the volume turned all the way up. A scream issued from the old speakers, rattling around in Azalea's head before sinking in a shiver down her spine. Obviously another tribute was dead or dying, which was reason enough to avoid the television for a while. It surprised her that Cato wasn't willing to watch, though.

"Any particular reason why?"

"No."

Silence descended for what seemed like half an hour but was probably only a few minutes. Azalea chewed at one of her cuticles, holding back the urge to press him further. It would only result in an argument, but she really wanted to know what was going on inside his head. He never fully explained himself to her, not that she did the same for him, and she wished she could read his mind.

"Why don't we go to that copse of trees? You know, the one we went to when you came over so late." Azalea watched him for a reaction, encouraged when he opened one eye and stared at her. "There's plenty of shade there and no Games broadcast."

"Yeah, okay," Cato agreed after a couple seconds. "Let's go."

They trudged across the empty dirt lot behind Azalea's house, wiping sweat off their brows as they went, and breathed a sigh of relief when they reached the tree cover. It wasn't much cooler beneath the thin spruces, but the full strength of the sun could not reach them there, of which they were glad. Cato immediately stretched himself out on the ground and folded his arms behind his head. He tensed in surprise as Azalea settled next to him close enough that their arms brushed. Glancing in her direction, he saw a quick smile flicker across her face before disappearing.

"So, tell me about Diana. What's she like?" Azalea asked after a few minutes of staring silently at the canopy above. "I don't think I've met her before."

Cato sighed, wracking his brain to find a fitting description for his younger sister. "I guess you'd just call her normal. She doesn't go to the Academy and she has a big group of friends. Somehow she missed the tall gene, so she's around your height, and she looks more like Marcus."

Azalea frowned, trying to picture the girl he'd described and coming up with nothing. "How'd she not end up at the Academy? You acted like your dad is pretty firm on you being there."

"Diana stays out of his way as much as possible. I think having one kid quit was enough to make him give up on her. He never was big on having a daughter," Cato said, smiling wanly. "I'm glad she was able to avoid it, though. She isn't really equipped for the whole training, maiming thing."

"So she's no Clove." Azalea laughed, trying to lighten the mood. "I'd really like to meet her. Maybe we can have that lunch tomorrow? We can all head over and meet Marcus at the top of the quarry. The regular schools get the day off for the Games too, right?"

Cato nodded, grinning a little at her eagerness to get their families together. If he had the choice, Marcus and Clove would never get within fifteen yards of each other, but it was obvious that Azalea was going to push this one through. "Do you really want to do this?"

"It's only fair!" Azalea exclaimed. "You've endured my crazy family, so now I want to see what yours is like."

"Who's going to fix the food?"

"I bet it'll be me," Azalea said mockingly, pushing him softly. "Did you really think I would expect you to make a meal? Clove wouldn't eat it; she would think you were poisoning her."

Frowning, Cato looked over at her seriously. "I never thought of that. Can I make the drinks?"

"Shut up!" she ordered, giggling in spite of herself. "You two are going to have to get along someday. Maybe not soon, but eventually you'll need each other."

"Need that scary thing? I don't think so," Cato said, scoffing. "And what she needs is a nice, old-fashioned lobotomy. Maybe it'll make her less rabid."

"Be nice to my sister," Azalea said warningly, shooting him a playful glare. "Just remember that I'm the one who taught her how to throw knives."

"I'm so scared." Cato made a face at her and had to jump out of the way as her fist came at him. She managed to catch him in the side, having to sit up with the force of her swing, and brought her hands up to cover her mouth when he let out a wheezing grunt of pain.

"I'm sorry!" she exclaimed, shaking her head quickly. "Did I hit you too hard? I didn't mean to, really. I just thought—"

She was cut off midsentence by Cato lunging at her, a predatory smirk on his lips. He pushed her down, hands clamping on her upper arms to keep her pinned to the ground, and hovered above her triumphantly. Realizing she had been tricked, Azalea squirmed and tried to get away, laughing in disbelief.

"You were saying?"

"I was saying that you're a big jerk!" Azalea said, attempting to slip her arm out of his grasp. "I thought I'd really hurt you, Cato."

"Please," Cato said, grinning. "Like you could hurt me." He leaned in close, nose almost brushing her cheek, and laughed at her quietly. She allowed him to stay there for a few seconds, caught up in the feeling of his breath against her skin and the way he kept glancing into her eyes. It should have been easy to let the comment go, to let him do whatever he wanted because he was _Cato_, but something in her wouldn't allow it.

"Can I get up now?" Azalea asked. "If you're done laughing at me, that is."

Cato chuckled one last time before unpinning her arms and sitting back on his haunches. Once freed, it took Azalea mere seconds to whip a knife out of her boot and press it against the underside of Cato's jaw. His eyes widened in shock, pupils dilating as she put a bit more pressure on the blade, and reached up to grab her wrist.

"Still think I can't hurt you?" she whispered, voice deadly and low. He narrowed his eyes at her, bending low so their faces were inches apart. When it became obvious that he wasn't going to answer, she lowered the blade and got to her feet. She had taken his bait, which she knew she shouldn't have done, but it was just too easy. It was now apparent that she could, indeed, hurt him if she wanted to, which was an oddly delicious feeling.

"What the hell?" Cato snarled, rubbing at his neck angrily. It was a testament to his self-control that he didn't grab her by the throat and slam her into the nearest tree.

"Oh, come on, Cato. I didn't break the skin." Azalea watched him carefully, a smug smile tugging at the corners of her lips. There was no way to know how he would react, so she kept her guard up until she was sure he wouldn't attack

Cato muttered under his breath, choosing a few of his favorite curses and working them into colorful, imaginative phrases. He couldn't remember a time that someone other than his dad had caught him off guard like that, and he was most furious that he hadn't seen it coming. She had a quick hand, he would give her that.

"You're a piece of work," he said finally, glaring at her. "I can't believe you just did that."

"I can't believe you baited me." Azalea shrugged, looking up at him from under her lashes. "You're not mad, are you, Cato?"

He hesitated for a moment, massaging the skin of his neck. "No. I can't be, can I? I asked for it."

She grinned, reaching over to be sure that he was fine. "Come on; let's go back to my house. We can put some ice on your ego and see what happened with the Games." Azalea stood and offered Cato a hand, which he took with only a second's hesitation. She pulled him to his feet and tried to take her hand back, but he pulled her in close and grabbed the knife out of her other hand.

At her inquisitive look, Cato explained, "If I don't take your weapons you might ambush me again." He shook his head and laughed, as if he still couldn't grasp what she had done.

"It's cute that you think I only carry one knife."

"I don't want to know," he replied, putting an arm around her shoulders. "Maybe I shouldn't be training you. You'll end up like Clove."

"Afraid of a little competition?" Azalea asked, putting up her fists jokingly.

"Terrified."

* * *

The trainees arrived at the amphitheater early the next morning. Azalea had packed their lunches before departing for the Academy, putting everything she had made into a basket and storing it by the front door. It had taken a lot of convincing, but Clove had finally agreed to tag along under the pretense of being Azalea's backup. Truthfully, Clove wanted to see what Cato's family was like and how he interacted with them. She would figure him out one way or another.

There had been only one death the day before: Rosanna, the girl from 10, had discovered Grace of 11 scavenging for food on the outskirts of the town. In an attempt to steal the three rats Grace had managed to kill, Rosanna had picked up a rusty metal pipe from the street and beat her with it. The attack had been brutal and bloody, much to the delight of many of the trainees, and had lasted for nearly five minutes. During the replay, Caesar commented that Rosanna's Parade outfit had been the tackiest by far.

Azalea and Cato had taken a spot closer to the front, directly behind Jacob and Natalie. It made Azalea a little uncomfortable, but Cato had simply smiled and guided her with a hand at the small of her back. There was little room for negotiation after her stunt of the previous day, which he reminded her of on more than one occasion. Natalie's face twisted in a terrifying smile when Azalea sat down, prompting Cato to shoot her a warning look. Jacob, on the other hand, gave her a little wave and went back to his conversation without comment.

"It's time you start hanging out with the top of the division," Cato told her quietly, noting her unease. "They'll think they can intimidate you."

"That's because they can," she retorted, folding her arms. Glancing around, she noticed that the seats around them were filling up quickly. It made her a bit paranoid; she generally liked to have something solid at her back so she didn't feel as if everyone was staring at her.

"Obviously that's something else we need to work on." Cato bent forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "No one will take you seriously if you don't act like you know what you're doing."

"He's right," Natalie said suddenly, turning her piercing gaze toward Azalea. "We can smell weakness."

"You must have a very good nose," Azalea replied tartly. "Tell me, what does _jealousy_ smell like? Because from here, I'd say there's a hint of sour grapes."

"Screw you." Natalie faced the screen, obviously battling the urge to start a fight. Outside of training, fighting was expressly forbidden on Academy grounds. Technically it was forbidden out in the District as well, but it was rare that someone had enough proof to be accused of brawling.

Cato laughed at Azalea, attempting to sober himself when she shot him a look of reproach. When the smile refused to drop from his face, she shoved him none too softly and harrumphed, crossing her arms over her chest. He watched her for a few moments, seeing more of a resemblance between her and Clove than usual, and did his best not to laugh again.

The Games began at eight, cutting off Caesar's monologue about good dental hygiene as they flashed to life on the screen behind him. Cameras were focused on the Career camp, where Julius and Talia were having a hushed discussion by the Cornucopia.

"Keeping him around is only making things harder," Julius snapped, pacing back and forth. "He eats twice as much as we do, and he barely lifts his weapon."

"There are still three more tributes to find. We'll cover more ground if we let him live and send him out on his own." Talia took a drink of water, her eyes following Julius' progression as he got farther and farther away from her. "Who knows, maybe he'll get killed by District 7 and we won't have to deal with him."

"It's not a matter of laziness." Julius sent a hard stare in her direction, barely pausing to indicate his derision. "I want him gone by the end of today, one way or another."

"Fine," Talia agreed, shrugging. "No skin off my nose. Just make sure his body is somewhere else, because I don't plan on leaving the food unprotected again."

Julius nodded, stopping his constant motion except for a twitch in his left eyebrow. Talia pushed away from the Cornucopia and walked past him toward the town hall building, patting him lightly on the shoulder as she did so. He flinched a little, watching her saunter into the building, and grinded his teeth.

The screen split for a moment, the frame freezing on Julius' face before zooming out into a shot with Minnow from District 4. She was walking down a barren street, chewing on a strip of dried meat from her sponsor package, and twirled what looked to be a shovel around her wrist on a cord. It took Azalea a moment to discover why they had switched focus, but she finally spotted smoke rising in the distance.

The girl from 10, Rosanna, was roasting one of the rats she had stolen the day before. The wood she used was smoking more than expected, creating a beacon of sorts on the horizon, but she didn't seem to notice. As soon as the meat was cooked, she grabbed the skewer from the fire and began eating. It was obvious she hadn't had anything to eat or drink in many days, so the rat meat was distracting, allowing her to miss the sound of Minnow's footsteps.

Minnow didn't hesitate to lash out, having seen the pipe at Rosanna's feet, and let loose with a mighty swing of the shovel. The muted clang ricocheted off the nearby buildings, giving voice to Rosanna's fall. She toppled forward, knocked out cold, and landed in the fire. Her hair caught first, starting at a low simmer and fanning with the thin breeze until it was a roaring blaze. Minnow's mouth hung open, aghast, and she pinched her nose to block out the stench of burning hair. In a moment of compassion or wild fright, she lifted the shovel and brought the blade down on the back of Rosanna's neck, as one would a snake to cut off its head. The dull blade didn't slice all the way through the bone, but Minnow continued to chop until the cannon went off in the distance.

Stumbling away from her kill, Minnow dropped to her knees and retched until the meager meal she had eaten resurfaced. Everyone in the amphitheater laughed and pointed at the girl who was too weak to revel in her victory. Natalie was especially vicious, commenting on the pathetic selections from District 4 and wondering whether Finnick regretted sending her food and water.

Azalea felt sick herself, wondering whether it was the sight of a tribute vomiting or the gruesome death she had just witnessed. It reminded her of Kellan, she decided, and had to look down at her hands to get the image out of her head. Suddenly, Cato's large hand reached over to wrap around one of her own, causing her to look up and meet his cool gaze. He didn't comment, just quirked his lips and gave her fingers a squeeze before retracting his hand.

* * *

They broke for lunch at noon, having just over an hour to eat and return to the Academy. The cafeteria would be open and serving, but most trainees chose to go back to their houses and watch the recaps with their families. Julius and Talia had just agreed to split up for the hunt, with Talia staying back at the camp and Julius going out with Gilt. The day promised more death, but Azalea managed to concentrate on the brief respite instead.

"Ready?" she asked, addressing Cato and Clove in her small living room. They nodded, both evidently not looking forward to the group lunch, and followed Azalea reluctantly out the door. Diana had agreed to meet them at the quarry, where Marcus would be waiting, after a quick explanation from Cato as to what they were doing.

The day was cloudy and cool for summer, which suited the party just fine. A picnic would have been miserable in the hot afternoon sun that plagued the quarries and baked the stone masons. Cato was just glad they didn't have far to go, having heard enough of Clove's not-so-subtle digs for one day.

"So, dickhead, is your family as fucked up as you are?" Clove asked as they walked.

"Watch your mouth," Azalea warned, pinching her sister's arm in the hopes of dispelling the negative energy that seemed to emanate from her pores. "What happened to being polite?"

"I'm making conversation." Clove smiled grimly, watching Cato with dark eyes. Cato, for his part, kept his mouth shut and climbed the steep incline that led to the top of the quarry. It was hard enough not to snap at the little devil when all she did was glare, but she made it nearly impossible when her forked tongue refused to stay behind her teeth.

"It would be great if you could act normal during lunch." Azalea grabbed Clove's shoulder and turned to face her. "I thought you were going to have my back."

"I do," Clove said, sighing. "Sorry."

Cato's eyebrows shot toward his hairline in surprise. He had never expected to hear that word come from Clove without a hint of sarcasm or insincerity. The weight the apology carried was enough to convince him that she wouldn't pull anything with his brother and sister.

When they finally crested the hill and saw the quarry, Marcus and a shorter girl with wavy, light brown hair were waiting for them. Marcus waved genially, wiping the haggard look from his face with a bit of effort, and said something to Diana. She laughed, lifting her hand in welcome, and smiled up at her oldest brother.

"How are you, kid? I wasn't expecting to see you again so soon." Marcus grinned, sizing Clove up curiously. "And with another tagalong."

"Poor choice of words," Azalea said, wincing. "This is Clove, my sister. Clove this is Marcus and Diana, Cato's siblings."

Clove stuck out her hand, looking like she would rather be anywhere else, and shook with both Marcus and Diana. It was obvious that the two younger girls would not get along very well, but Clove had the decency to keep her mouth shut.

"Azalea, right?" Diana asked, looking up at Azalea. At her nod, the girl smiled. "Nice to meet you. I've heard a lot about you from these guys."

"Oh?" Azalea raised an eyebrow, looking back and forth between the brothers. They shrugged, seeming unabashed, and busied themselves talking to each other. "I've heard a lot about you, too. What's it like going to the regular school? I haven't been there in a long time."

"It's boring," Diana replied dutifully, wrinkling her nose. "Not much happens, but we've been going half days for the Games. What about you? The Academy has to be exciting." She pouted in Cato's direction, waiting until he looked at her to continue speaking. "Cato won't tell me anything about it. He thinks I'm too young."

Azalea laughed at the expression on Cato's face, noticing how protective he was of his sister. "I'm sure he has better reasons than that. The Academy isn't really all that interesting, and, between you and me, I'd rather be with the normal kids." This made Diana smile, which pleased Azalea. "How about we eat lunch?"

"Great! What did you bring?" Diana started looking through the basket after Azalea put it on the ground. "Oh, wow, this is much better than the stuff the cafeteria gives us. Cato, look!"

Diana held up the pie Azalea had baked that morning. It had taken all the money she had saved up to buy the ingredients, but she was just as eager for a treat as anyone. The trip into town had been a secret, and even Clove hadn't known what she was planning until about six a.m., when she had awoken to the smell of baking crust.

"How much did that cost?" Cato asked, frowning at Azalea. She shrugged, staring up at him innocently, and felt a smile twitch up the corners of her mouth. He settled onto the ground beside her and took the sandwich she offered him. "We'll pay you back."

"Really, it's not a big deal. Clove and I usually get fed at the Academy, so a little extra food won't be a big stretch. I made sure my dad was okay with it." Azalea took a bite of her chicken sandwich, indicating that she was finished with the subject. "So, Marcus, have there been any big developments at the quarry?"

He glanced up from where he had been talking with Clove in a low voice. "No, why? Did you find that nonlethal job for us?"

Azalea laughed. "No, not yet. It hasn't been long enough! Give me a while." She eyed Clove, who seemed fairly content talking to Marcus. It was a little discomfiting, Azalea had to admit, but it was better than Clove exchanging insults with Cato.

They ate quickly, knowing that the three trainees would have to get back to the Academy soon, and kept up a pleasant discussion of school, work, and training. Cato gave Azalea silent permission to tell Diana a few things about the Academy, including Cato's agreement to train her. Marcus frowned, obviously having heard about the first disastrous attempt at sparring, and glanced sharply at his brother. Azalea smiled easily, ignoring Marcus' concern, and continued talking about weights and running.

"Okay, I believe you now. The Academy is boring," Diana said, holding up her hands. Cato laughed, reclining back on his elbows.

"I've been telling you that for years," he said, grinning. "Why didn't you trust me?"

"Azalea's more convincing." Diana stuck out her tongue at him. "And she doesn't lie."

"When have I ever lied to you?" Cato challenged, raising an eyebrow.

"Plenty of times. Right, Marcus?"

"Oh, yeah, Cato." Marcus grinned wickedly. "Don't act all high and mighty."

"Shut up," Cato snapped, tossing his napkin at his brother's head.

Clove smiled in dark amusement, leaning over to Azalea. "I like this guy."

"Marcus?" Azalea shook her head, knowing Clove was taking perverse pleasure in watching Cato being ganged up on. "You're incorrigible."

"Why thank you."

"Don't you think it's time to be getting back?" Azalea asked, directing this at both Cato and Clove. "Our lunch break is almost up."

Clove nodded, preparing to leave, but Cato shrugged. "I'll meet you there, okay?"

"Sure. I'll be sitting with Clove," she added with a smirk, knowing he would hate spending the afternoon anywhere near her sister. He scowled, nodding his assent. "It was nice meeting you, Diana. Good to see you again, Marcus."

"You too, gorgeous." Marcus smiled and stood up to give her a hug. His arms were sturdy and warm, much like Cato's, but he smelled like rock and metal. He leaned down to whisper something in her ear. "Don't let my brother fool you, okay? Call him out on his shit."

Azalea laughed, nodding against his shoulder. "See you later."

"Bye!" Diana called, waving as Azalea and Clove headed back toward the residential area.

As they walked, Azalea looked over at her sister curiously. "What were you and Marcus talking about so intently?"

"The Games and the Academy. He went there too, you know. I remember seeing him when I used to sneak in and watch exams," Clove said. "He was amazing with a sickle."

"A sickle! Clove, when did you go watch the trainees? I don't remember that." Azalea frowned, wondering what else she had missed in her sister's life.

"I was nine or ten, I guess. You had just started there and I wanted to know what it was like." Clove snickered, glancing up at Azalea. "You were so bad that first year. Remember your first match? I think you tapped out in under a minute."

"Yeah, okay, I was awful. Thanks for reminding me. Did Marcus really want to talk to you about all that?"

"He was pretty relaxed about it all. I think you're the only one who gets all uptight about training talk." Clove shook her head. "I can't believe he quit. He was practically a Victor already."

"It's not always that simple."

* * *

Cato said goodbye to Marcus, having agreed to walk Diana back to their house. He had been surprised by how well the lunch had gone; Clove had even talked civilly with his brother. It took a weight off his shoulders, allowing him to ignore Diana's needling.

"Come on, Cato. You obviously like her," Diana said, jabbing him in the ribs with her finger. "Just ask her out already."

"You don't know what you're saying," Cato replied evenly, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"I'm a girl, okay? I know what I'm doing." Diana laughed lightly, putting out an arm to slow him down. "Asking her to train isn't the same thing as a date."

"That's not what I meant it to be." Cato scowled, hating his sister's ability to rattle him.

"Right." Diana patted him on the chest and picked up her pace. "Just remember: She likes you, too."

* * *

Back at the amphitheater, everything was in chaos. Cato jogged down the steps and dropped into the seat next to Azalea, wondering what had happened. She looked over at him, eyes wide, and shook her head. "Julius is dead."

"What?" he asked sharply, sure he had misheard.

"Gilt killed him the second they got far enough away from Talia. They were just recapping when we got back, showing Gilt catching Julius from behind. Seriously, I don't even know how it happened," Azalea said.

"Julius dropped his guard, that's how," Clove said shortly, obviously disgusted. "Stupid bastard. He had these Games in the bag."

"Apparently not," Cato replied, feeling a little like he'd been hit over the head. "So is Talia…?"

"She's still alive. I don't think she knows about Julian, though." Azalea put a hand on his arm in an attempt to comfort him. "This increases her odds infinitely."

"I guess so." Cato looked up at the screen, seeing Talia sitting comfortably on a short stack of crates. She seemed ready to defend herself, but otherwise she was calm and relaxed. He hadn't really imagined the possibility of her coming back as Victor, but now it was entirely plausible.

"Look, Gilt is coming back," Azalea said, pointing to the lower right corner of the screen. "He looks really pleased with himself."

"You would be too if you just killed your biggest competitor," Clove pointed out, crossing her legs at the ankle. "This is really getting juicy."

Talia tensed onscreen as she heard Gilt's footsteps, unsure whether it was another theft attempt or her allies returning. When she saw Gilt come through the door, her face registered first surprise and then suspicion.

"Where's Julius?" she asked, jumping down from her crate and gripping the handle of her hunting knife more securely.

"Yeah, see, we ran into that kid from 7. Julius said he could take him, so I held back, but it didn't go the right way." Gilt shrugged, looking apologetic. "He's dead."

Talia narrowed her catlike eyes at him. "You're lying. What did you do, you glittery piece of District 1 scum?"

Gilt's face hardened, features tightening into a death mask. "See, I thought you'd be happy he was gone. It was obvious he was planning to kill you soon. I figured I did you a favor."

"You killed him." Talia swallowed, fighting to keep herself together. "For me? Oh, how sweet you are. Such a gentleman."

Gilt tried to smile, but his mouth didn't seem to want to cooperate. "Doll, this is the best possible outcome for you. I've just gotten you into the top four with minimal effort, and all you have to do is say thank you."

Talia didn't respond, choosing instead to throw her knife into his thigh. He cried out, having protected his chest and left the rest of his body vulnerable. She sidled over to him, knocking the sword he carried out of his hand. When he tried to take a swing at her, she dodged quickly and boxed his ears.

"Listen to me, you second-rate pile of shit. You killed my District partner, so now I'm going to kill you. But it won't be fast and it won't be easy. I'm going to cut you to ribbons." Talia circled him, kicking every piece of him she could reach. "What would you like me to slice first?" She pulled out another knife and held it to his face. "I could pluck out your eyes. Or maybe I'll take your tongue. Garbled screams are so much more satisfying than words."

She leaned in, pressing her cheek to his. He trembled against the cool blade, glancing between the steel and Talia. With a wicked smile, she turned and pressed a kiss to his lips. "Welcome to the real Games. The odds will _never_ be in your favor."

* * *

Cato walked Azalea home that night, still unable to believe that Talia was in the final three. He barely registered that Azalea was talking to him, letting her voice fade into the background as they progressed slowly toward the Row.

"Cato? Cato, are you even paying attention?" Azalea waved a hand in front of his face. "Should I walk myself home?"

"Sorry," he said, shaking his head to clear it. "I'm just a little in shock."

"I understand. But hey, Talia is going to make it. All she has to do is find the other two and take them out. Maybe Tanner will kill Minnow himself." Azalea bumped his hip with hers. "Cheer up! Lunch went well, your friend is going to come home, and Clove didn't castrate you."

He chuckled, throwing an arm around her shoulders. "Okay, so it's been a good day. Diana liked you."

"Your family _loves_ me," Azalea corrected, smirking. "Be careful, they might just start giving me dirt on you."

"I'll watch out for that." He frowned, thinking back to what Diana had told him. Was it really possible that Azalea liked him? He would have to get more information from his sister before he believed her absolutely.

They got to Azalea's house sooner than he would have liked. He didn't want to follow her up the stairs, so he pulled her into a hug at the base of the steps. She put her arms around his waist tentatively, crushing the fabric of his thin shirt in her fists, and closed her eyes. It was then that she realized just how much she dreaded his entrance into the Games. She wanted to hold onto him forever, keep him rooted to the spot and unable to disappear into that desolate arena.

"Cato?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't die." She pulled away a bit to look up at him. He cracked a small smile, understanding what she meant.

"I'll do my best."

* * *

**Wooooo! There it is! Please review, it would REALLY make my day.**

**Review replies:**

_hazu23: _Thanks! Hope you liked this one :)

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_StardustIsMagic:_ I appreciate your indignation! Honestly, I'm just happy that ANYONE is reviewing. I can't believe you liked the chapter that much! It really means a lot that you review my story; I think I did a bit of a fangirl squeal the first time you reviewed! I really do love your story and plan on reviewing when I finish rereading it. Spark is one of my favorite stories, too. I hope you like this!

_anon:_ Thanks for keeping me motivated! Maybe...ish this will satisfy your romance cravings? Not sure, but I promise there is much more to come. Here is your update!

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**Okay, so the next chapter is a biggie. Please leave me some reviews so I know what you think!**


	13. Please Tell Me You Know

**Well, this is it! THE chapter, if you know what I mean. I had to play with it a lot, so I hope it's okay. I'm pretty comfortable with how it turned out. The next chapter is going to move the timeline forward a bit, so be prepared for that. I would really like feedback on this one because it's so important. If I need to do revisions I definitely will. I also found a few mistakes in earlier chapters, including my calling Julius "Julian" once last chapter. I'm sorry about that and will try to catch them in the future.**

**Thanks to all those who read, reviewed, favorited, and alerted. You're awesome!**

* * *

Because the Games were down to the final three, the trainees prepared to spend their nights at the Academy. They couldn't afford to miss a single moment of the action, especially since some of the instructors would be giving short lectures during commercials. It happened every year, usually at least two weeks in, but this time it had only been eight full days. Everyone was still in shock that Talia had made if farther than Julius. No one expressed their feelings aloud, though.

Azalea and Clove woke early Tuesday morning, hoping to pack before it was time to be at the Academy. They had no idea how long they would be there; it could be one night, it could be a week. The Gamemakers surely wouldn't let these Games drag on too much longer without bloodshed. It was unlike them to leave the audiences without a fight per day, unless one tribute was making a show of dying slowly from starvation or exposure.

"Are you bringing a pillow?" Clove asked, pausing between shoving shirts in a duffle bag.

"Yes, and don't even think about not bringing one and then stealing mine," Azalea warned, pretending to glare at her sister. "I know all of your tricks now."

"That's what _you_ think." Clove took her pillow and made a futile attempt to compress it enough to fit it into the bag with the clothes. "I guess we have to root for Talia now."

"Of course we do. Besides, she's obviously the most qualified tribute now that Julius and Gilt are gone." Azalea folded a pair of pants neatly before putting them in her own bag. "Wouldn't you want us rooting for you if your tribute partner died?"

"You'd be rooting for me from the beginning," Clove said, acting as if it were obvious. "We'd better hurry; the Games will already be up on the screen, and I don't want to miss anything."

Azalea nodded, folding her last shirt and zipping up her duffle. The trainees would be able to use the locker room facilities for showers and other personal needs, so she had also packed a bag of toiletries. They made quick work of breakfast, which a disgruntled Titus had made after being roused by an angry Clove, and said goodbye to their father. He wouldn't see them again until the Games were over, as they were required to be on Academy grounds until the Victor was announced.

Upon entering the amphitheater, they saw that nearly everyone had already arrived and were all setting up camp. Groups of trainees were scattered across the bleachers, some rolling out sleeping bags and others spreading blankets on the seats, while the entire operation was overseen by the instructors. Azalea deflated, despairing of ever finding an open spot, when she noticed Cato stretched out on his back on a bleacher near the front. Occasionally a trainee would come near him and his small pile of supplies, though they ran away quickly when he opened an eye and threatened some form of torture.

"I think Cato saved us a spot," Azalea said slowly, trying to decide whether or not that was true. Jacob and Natalie were settled a few bleachers down from him, so the spaces obviously weren't for them. "Is that okay with you?"

"Like I care where I sleep." Clove rolled her eyes and started down the stairs. "Come on, scaredy-cat."

"I am not!" Azalea exclaimed, jogging after her sister. "Why'd you say that?"

Clove merely shrugged, taking the stairs two at a time, and turned down the section where Cato was set up. His arms were folded behind his head and his eyes were closed as if he were sleeping. It was only the casual way with which he greeted them that showed how alert he was.

"You're late for the party," Cato said, opening his eyes and staring at them. "You know how this stuff works, right?"

"Shove it," Clove snapped, tossing her bag down at her feet. "Can we stay here or not?"

Cato sat up and smirked. "Sure you can. For a price."

Azalea sighed and sat down, preparing herself for another fight. Not to be goaded, Clove plopped down on the bleacher in front of Cato and raised an eyebrow. It was a dare, asking him to kick them out and cause a scene, but he refused to rise to the bait.

"Did you wake up late?" He grinned at Azalea, a mischievous spark in his eye. "Spend too much time doing your hair?"

She blushed, reaching up to feel the tangled mess at the back of her head, and put her hair in a ponytail. "We packed this morning, okay?"

"I'm not here to judge," he replied, chuckling. "The girls are usually the late ones anyway."

"We come to this every year," Clove retorted, crossing her thin legs and folding her arms. "It's not like you're the expert on mandatory Game days."

"But I am the one who managed to snag a few seats. Maybe you should be a little more civil about all this. You know, considering…." He shrugged, feigning indifference, and relaxed against the bleacher behind him. Clove struggled, trying to smile, and ended up baring her teeth at him angrily. "Wow, you're like a viper."

"Okay, okay," Azalea said, rolling her eyes. "I think that's enough for today. Clove, do you want to go check us in with one of the instructors? We have to have our names on the list for meals."

"Yeah, whatever." Clove stood and marched off toward Thaddeus, who was chewing on the end of his pen out of boredom down by the podium.

"She's really amusing," Cato said, turning to Azalea. "Honestly, I think we could sell tickets."

"You're almost as bad," Azalea exclaimed accusingly. "Seriously, when are you going to stop poking at her like a caged animal?"

"When it stops being so damn entertaining." Cato was still smiling unrepentantly, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe his luck in landing such a responsive punching bag. At a glare from Azalea, he turned his expression of delight into one of mock contrition. "I'm sorry. She's your sister; I understand why you're mad."

"No you don't," Azalea countered, laughing as he stuck out his lower lip. "Just try not to pick fights the whole time we're here, okay?"

He saluted, which elicited another bout of laughter, and moved closer to her as the anthem began blaring over the speakers. Clove returned shortly after Caesar and Claudius began recapping the night's events, which consisted of a psychotic break on Minnow's part and a sponsor parachute with water for Tanner. They settled in to watch, hoping it wasn't Talia's day to die, and waited for the Games to begin.

The cameras began with views of the three tributes, two of whom were closer together than they knew. Talia was packing a bag of supplies, obviously not planning on returning to the town hall, and had an array of weapons lain out before her. Two knives, a short sword, a coil of garrote wire, and Callum's spiked, bloody mace were spread out on a table, ready to be loaded into Talia's pack. Before she put them away, she packed a week's supply of food and three liters of water. She would not be traveling light, but she would outlast the others if it came down to sustenance.

Once everything was packed, Talia grabbed an extra two bottles of water and ran out to the square. In a clever move, she hid them in two separate locations in case the Games lasted longer. After she was satisfied with her provisions, Talia went off in search of the other tributes.

Minnow, who had just managed to wipe the tear tracks from her flushed cheeks, made a quick breakfast of dried meat and some of the last of her water. She looked miserable, like she was hoping the Games would be over soon no matter the outcome. Killing Rosanna had taken a lot of the fight out of her, which probably annoyed her mentor to no end, and she was content to stay where she was until one of the other tributes found her.

Tanner, on the other hand, had decided to be proactive. Thanks to his stunt with the Careers, he was well-fed, fairly rested, and would be able to fight. Upon leaving his hiding place for what he hoped was the last time, he heard footsteps moving to his left. His head tilted toward the sound and began to move quietly across the dirt road. He ducked behind the building as the end of Talia's ponytail flicked around the corner, watching her jogging confidently toward the other end of the arena. If he hadn't been suspicious, he would have gone back to the Career camp and retrieved more supplies, but he was wary of the unguarded spoils. After the deaths of her District partner and the boy from 1, no one was left to stay near the Cornucopia.

Deciding it was best to keep her in sight, Tanner took off at a quick walk after Talia's dark, retreating figure. She moved lightly, almost as if her feet didn't touch the ground, and whipped around corners so fast he almost lost her a few times. It was obvious that she had an idea where the other tribute would be, but he assumed she was looking for him as well. He could have easily thrown his axe and hit her squarely in the back, but he was afraid of missing, which would result in losing the weapon and his probable death.

They walked for almost two hours, occasionally circling back around so Talia could inspect a building more closely. She never seemed to realize Tanner was following her, and he always managed to slide into an empty building or drop behind a bit of fallen cement before she turned to catch him. He stopped when she did, taking sips from his last water bottle and eating bits of dried fruit. She rested fairly often and usually stayed out in the open as a challenge to the remaining competitors. Either she would find them or they would find her, but she was determined to be ready for whatever came.

Just as the Academy was about to break for lunch, Tanner stopped trailing Talia and backtracked to a wooden structure that was partially collapsed. Everyone turned to the screen, waiting to see what he was doing, and a collective grumble of dissatisfaction rose from the crowd. Minnow was revealed by another camera to be inside the structure, which meant that Tanner would be the one to kill her. None of the trainees were particularly pleased with his methods, nor were they happy that Talia would be out another kill. The tally was important, especially to the trainees.

As Tanner stepped into the building, he blinked for a moment to clear his vision. In the corner, Minnow was clutching her shovel and staring at him with wide eyes. She looked half insane and completely unprepared for his visit. Instead of getting up to face him, she pushed herself farther into the corner and folded her legs in front of her.

"You're from District 7, right?" she asked, her voice hoarse from so many days of disuse. Tanner nodded cautiously, raising his axe slightly. "I saw your training score. Everyone was expecting me to get at least an eight, but I didn't. I could barely manage a six, even after all that work. What did you do for the Gamemakers?"

Tanner flexed his fingers on the axe handle, nervously shifting from foot to foot. It unnerved him to be completely unaware of where Talia was and the conversation wasn't helping. Any minute, the dark-haired girl from 2 could swoop in and kill them both in less than five seconds. She was like a wraith, armed to the teeth and quieter than the wind.

"This and that," he answered finally, deciding that a vague response was best.

Minnow scoffed. "Right. Well, I guess I'd rather be killed by you than _her_. Did you see her in the Training Center? All fancy, distracting moves. I think she'd drag it out, don't you? But you won't."

She looked at him steadily, blue eyes boring into his, and managed a sour smile. In that moment, he realized how unequipped he was to deal with such things. The girl from 1 had been different, begging for death like it was a mercy. This girl was practically daring him to do it, promising not to retaliate if he would only help her avoid Talia, and she was pinning a resigned stare on him.

Minnow decided she wanted Tanner to kill her. Knowing what she had done to the girl from 10 was eating her up inside, making it impossible to sleep. The tears and the worry and the vomiting would continue if she made it out of the arena. Instead of carrying that wound forever, she wanted to get her death over with.

"Just do it," she urged, leaning forward a bit. "I can put up a fight, if you want. Would that make you feel better?"

He faltered, taking a step back, and she grimaced. Quickly getting to her feet, she raised her bloody shovel and held it like a weapon instead of a digging implement. Minnow ran at him, winding up for a swing, and opened her mouth to scream. It was the thought of the noise more than the impending attack that prompted Tanner to throw the axe, effectively silencing his opponent. She sank to the ground, eyes crossing for a moment to look at the handle that ran parallel with her nose, and let out a short laugh.

The cannon went off before Tanner could prepare for it, causing him to curse loudly and grab for the axe. He apologized quietly, wiping the blood on Minnow's t-shirt, and ran away from the building as quickly as he could. The hovercraft would give away his position to Talia, though she wouldn't know whether it was him or Minnow she would be facing when she arrived at the kill site. Thinking of how close he was to winning propelled him forward, not allowing him to care how much dust he kicked up or how ragged his breathing had become.

* * *

Azalea exhaled softly and stood, preparing to file up to the cafeteria with the rest of the trainees. Talia still had a chance, and a good one at that, but she could see the tension in Cato's shoulders as he watched. He had called out several times with the other trainees, acting as if she could her him, and gave her advice that she could never hope to follow. None of them had been happy that Tanner had tracked her so easily, but Cato had been the angriest.

"I can't believe we're breaking for lunch _now_," he snarled, raking his fingers through his hair. "What if something happens?"

"There are televisions in the cafeteria," Azalea replied levelly, trying to keep him calm. "We'll know if anything goes wrong, and the instructors wouldn't let us miss it."

He nodded grudgingly, letting her push him onward. They fell into line with the others, making slow progress up the steps of the amphitheater. A year ago, he would have been walking with Jacob, Natalie, and Talia. They would have been discussing strategy and technique, something he wouldn't bring up with Azalea, and commenting on what they would have done in the tributes' places. He had never felt so discombobulated in his life.

Once they finally reached the cafeteria, Cato snagged an empty table and began wolfing down his food. Azalea barely had time to sit down before he pushed his tray away and folded his arms impatiently. She looked at him sideways, not wanting to say the wrong thing, and carefully picked up her fork.

Clove was less delicate, stomping over and slamming her tray down unceremoniously. Taking one look at Cato, she sank down into her seat and smirked. "Nervous, Golden Boy?"

He glared at her sharply. "Excuse me? I'm sure you mean well, devil's spawn, but I think you should keep your mouth shut."

"Clove, now is not the time," Azalea added, adopting a pleading expression. "At all."

Clove rolled her eyes and started eating, acting as if nothing had happened. Azalea knew it bothered Cato, so she resolved to finish her meal quickly and get him out of there. They weren't allowed to leave the Academy until the Games were over, but they weren't confined to the amphitheater. Televisions would be on in every room, so the trainees were allowed to spend a few hours elsewhere if they needed to stretch their legs.

"Come on," Azalea said, putting down her empty milk carton. "You need to be kept away from people."

Cato frowned, standing up when she flapped her hands at him distractedly. "What are we doing?"

"Nothing big, I promise." She grabbed her tray in one hand and his wrist in the other, towing him over toward the trashcans. "Clove, we'll be back in a while."

"I'm not coming to get you if something happens!" Clove warned, scowling as her sister disappeared through the doors to the gym.

* * *

Azalea led Cato toward the mats in the center of the gym, turning around with her hands on her hips when they reached their destination. Cato looked down at her skeptically, ears tuned to the televisions that were mounted in every corner of the room, and waited for her to explain what they were doing in the gym.

"I thought we could hang out in here for a while," she said, sitting down on the mat and folding her legs beneath her. "You looked a little…terrifying."

He chuckled blackly and sat across from her, though he wasn't sure why he was complying. He wanted to be with the rest of the trainees and feel more like his old self, screaming at the screen and muttering profanities when things didn't go the way he wanted. There was something comforting about the group of bloodthirsty teenagers, something familiar that made him feel like he wasn't the odd one. With Azalea, his temper and outbursts seemed ridiculous. She was so calm.

"You want to be out there, don't you?" she asked, seeming to read his thoughts.

"Yeah, kind of." He shrugged and avoided eye contact. "There's less time to think with everybody yelling."

"She won't find Tanner for a while," Azalea pointed out. "You'll just be sitting there, watching her roam around and getting more and more nervous."

"I'm not nervous," he replied, trying to be calm. "It'll happen or it won't."

Azalea smiled softly and leaned forward conspiratorially. "I don't believe you. You're taught as a bowstring."

"No I'm not." He muttered something under his breath, reaching up to rub at a knot in his shoulder.

"Cato, be serious!" Azalea laughed, poking him in the stomach. He caught her hand and pulled her close, trying to look intimidating. "You're tense."

"So?" He stared at her intently, watching her attempt at sobering. "You're still laughing at me."

"I'm trying not to," she said, biting her lip to stop smiling. "You're just really bad at lying. No wonder Diana catches you in lies all the time."

"She was exaggerating," he said dismissively.

"Liar." Azalea squealed, trying to get away as he started tickling her side.

Cato refused to let her go, tightening his grip on her wrist and shifting so he was in a better position to attack her. By the time she had given up and was breathing hard, they were in a tangle on the mat. Azalea looked up into Cato's face, feeling something in her chest tighten, and found that she couldn't say anything. His blue eyes flickered and he seemed to notice she same thing she had. They were close, too close, and their noses almost brushed.

Without stopping to think, Cato leaned down and kissed her. Her eyes drifted shut and her fingers came up to explore the taut muscles of his shoulders and back. They weren't completely sure what was happening, but neither of them pulled away. It took a particularly loud bit of commentary from the nearest television to break them apart.

Azalea extricated herself, touching her mouth with shaking fingers, and tried to breathe normally. Glancing around the room, the entire thing struck her as oddly amusing. Cato opened his mouth, ready to apologize, but stopped when she began laughing.

"What's so funny?" he asked indignantly. She couldn't respond for a few moments, the force of her mirth causing her to have hiccups.

"We're in the Academy gym," she replied between spasms, shaking her head. "We just kissed in the _gym_."

Her laughter was contagious, and soon he was laughing along with her. It took several long minutes for them to calm down, by which time neither was at all confused about what had happened. It all seemed natural, even the location.

* * *

By the time night fell, the amphitheater was filled with disgruntled trainees. Nothing else had happened, despite Talia's increased attempts at finding the remaining tribute, and they were getting restless. Caesar and Claudius hadn't had much to say, so many commercial breaks had been taken and the instructors had droned on and on about weapons and Bloodbath strategy. Instead of bloodshed and action, which was typical of the mandatory Game days, they had endured what seemed like an extended instructional day.

Azalea and Cato had only stayed in the gym for an hour or so, afraid an instructor would come in and reprimand them for avoiding the Games and not practicing. The kiss was almost a nonevent, but Cato did seem a little more relaxed. Azalea couldn't tell for sure, so she decided she would let him do what he wanted.

"I'm going to sleep," Azalea announced at ten o'clock. "Wake me up if something interesting happens."

"Maybe," Cato said, with a bit of his usual verve. "We'll see."

"I have a feeling the screaming will wake me up if you won't." She wrinkled her nose and climbed into the thin sleeping bag. Feeling a little awkward about sleeping around Cato, she turned to face the screen and pulled the fabric up around her ears. The sensation of his eyes on the back of her head made her blush, but she didn't look back at him.

Cato stayed up for a few more hours, occasionally drifting off and jerking himself awake. Looking down at Azalea and Clove, both of whom were sleeping on the bleacher below him, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He stood and made his way up to the gym, intent on doing something physical to get his mind working again. None of the instructors stopped him and most of the trainees were asleep, so he made it there without incident.

Once there, his eyes landed on the punching bag that hung on the opposite side of the mat. He grabbed a pair of boxing gloves, not bothering to tape up his hands, and pulled them on expertly. It didn't take long for him to fall into the easy rhythm of boxing. His feet knew the usual footwork, taking him around the bag quickly and springing away periodically. It felt good to snap his fist out and bring it back, giving him a sense of control that he had been lacking for the past two days.

He worked for over an hour, sweat flying from his hair and trickling down his face until it was difficult for him to see. Cato pushed on, slamming the bag until it swung on its chain, and threw everything he had into the exercise. If he went hard enough for long enough, he figured he might be able to sleep a little that night. The only good thing about spending the night at the Academy was that his father wasn't around to make everything worse.

When he finally collapsed to the floor, panting and staring unseeingly at the ceiling, his entire body relaxed. He could feel the bruising on his knuckles, the soreness that would overwhelm his wrists and arms the next day, but he couldn't bring himself to care. It was an immense effort to even take off the gloves, but he managed to pull them off and toss them away.

"I don't think that's the proper way to handle equipment," a voice said behind him, causing him to scowl.

"Not now, Jake," he huffed, rolling his eyes back to look at his friend.

"You know, I never picked you for one of those guys who get all emotional," Jacob continued, laughing a little. "You're such a softy."

"Fuck you," Cato said halfheartedly, banging his head softly against the floor. "What do you want, anyway?"

"Couldn't sleep, so I figured I would work out. Looks like I'm not the only one with that bright idea." Jacob walked over to the pull up bar and started doing chin-ups with his legs crossed at the ankle. "You look beat."

"I'm fine." Cato forced himself to sit up and wipe some of the sweat from his face. It was starting to cool against his skin, making him a little chilled. "Hey, did Talia ever forgive you for saying she was going to die?"

"Define _forgive_," Jacob replied, gritting his teeth. "She did say goodbye, at least."

"Maybe you can apologize again when she gets back."

"If she gets back, you mean."

"That's positive thinking," Cato said sarcastically, pushing himself to his feet.

"What can I say?" Jacob dropped from the bar and shrugged indifferently. "She had no chance against Julius. It's just luck that the kid from District 1 killed him first."

Cato ignored his friend and walked toward the doors. He thought he might be able to sleep if given the chance, and he didn't want to give himself enough time to start thinking again. Deciding to go back to the amphitheater, he pushed away the logic Jacob had presented.

* * *

Azalea shook Cato awake the next morning, shouting excitedly in his ear. He shot up, putting a hand to his head as the world tipped on its axis, and struggled to get the screen into focus. A close-up of Talia took up the entire screen, which then zoomed out to reveal her standing in the middle of the street. Tanner was a mere fifteen yards away, looking ready to fight, and the amphitheater erupted in cheers.

Clove had abandoned her sleeping bag for a seat at the very front, but Azalea stayed by Cato's side. She clenched her fists nervously, hoping for Cato's sake that Talia was the one who came away from the fight. He was on his feet with the rest of the crowd, leaning toward the screen and shouting hoarse instructions.

Talia twirled the short sword in her hand anxiously, getting rid of the nervous energy that was affecting the trainees as well. She didn't want to be the first one to make a move, but Tanner obviously wasn't going to attack her first. In a split second decision, she ran at him with her weapon raised. He dodged her first blow, countering with his axe, but she managed to avoid its bloody edge. She swung again, clipping him in the side and eliciting a small gasp.

Tanner wasn't going to give up easily. He chopped at her sword arm with his axe, whipping out the hunting knife he had stolen while she was busy parrying. Distracted, Talia didn't notice him bringing the knife up under her arm until it had pierced her abdomen. She shrieked, kicking him away from her and pulling out the blade. Blood oozed down her side and made splatters in the dust.

Talia tossed the knife away angrily, making sure he wouldn't be able to reach it again, and renewed her efforts. It only took her a few swipes to land a solid hit on his shoulder, opening a wound that rivaled hers in seriousness. He was forced to change to his non-dominant hand, which put him at a disadvantage. She struck again quickly, taking the opportunity to further injure his shoulder, but lost her sword in the process.

Tanner hooked the blade of his axe around her sword and pulled, disarming her for the briefest of moments and shocking the audience. She recovered almost seamlessly, grabbing the knives from her belt and bringing them up just in time to block his next attack. They wrestled for a few moments, fighting for dominance, and finally stumbled back. Talia was breathing hard, a look of steely determination on her face as she glared at Tanner.

Reengaging, Talia slashed with one knife and brought the handle of the other down against Tanner's temple. He fell to the ground, losing his grip on the axe, and scuttled backward. She advanced on him, falling to her knees to stab at him. He threw up an arm to block her attack, the tip of the blade stopping mere centimeters from his eye, and plunged the fingers of his free hand into her stomach wound. She let out a pained yowl, weakening just enough that he was able to flip them over and force the knives from her hands.

In a cruel twist of fate, Talia had ended up in the same situation she had been in with Julius at the Academy. Tanner was choking her slowly, fingers bone white against her red throat, and the life was seeping out of her eyes. Breaking chokeholds had never been her strong suit.

Small coughs escaped from her as she struggled and kicked. Just as things started to look hopeless, Tanner readjusted himself and left his legs open slightly. Talia threw up one of her legs and caught him in the groin with a knee. He bucked, loosening his hands, and she shook him off easily. Unwrapping what looked like a bracelet from her wrist, Talia pulled the garrote around Tanner's neck in a deadly, sharp noose. As soon as she snapped it taught and yanked, it was over. Tanner gargled and jerked, drowning in his own blood as Talia held on tightly.

It took minutes for the cannon to fire, but Talia refused to let go until she had been declared the winner. It was only when the hovercraft lowered its ladder that she dropped the ends of the wire and wiped her bloody hands on her pants. As soon as she was lifted into the air, the amphitheater exploded with the sounds of jubilation.

Cato, barely able to speak after all the screaming, turned to Azalea in disbelief. She grinned up at him, mouth forming words he didn't process, and grabbed him into a hug. He returned it a bit too enthusiastically, managing to lift her a few inches off the ground before realizing what had happened. She laughed in his ear, pressing a kiss to his cheek, and whispered, "Congratulations."

* * *

**Oh boy, that's it. The kiss was rather difficult to place, but I'm hoping I got it right.**

**Review replies:**

_StardustIsMagic:_ Maybe this was romatic? I can't really tell. But Talia did win, so you got that part right! Thank you so much for all your compliments, and I really appreciate your continued support. Good luck with your finals!

_HermioneandMarcus:_ Here you go! Thanks for the review!

_hazu23:_ Thank you!

_Nelle07:_ Wow, that's a huge compliment!

_anon:_ This chapter had the real kiss, so there! Diana is 13, but she might seem a bit more immature. I wanted there to be a distinct line between Academy and non-Academy kids. Thank you for all your reviews!

_Miss-J'x:_ Thank you! The build up is basically over!

_AwaitingHogwartsLetter:_ I'm glad you like Diana! She's that pushy little sister everyone wants :) Hope you continue to enjoy.

_anon:_ Of course I'll continue!

_Franlucylucci:_ I'm glad you like it! Hopefully this lives up to your expectations!

_PeppermintAmortentia:_ Wow, thank you for reviewing! Hate to say it, but it won't be lighthearted for too much longer. I hope you continue to like it!

_DraggonflyMaiden:_ Thank you, I like her name too! It's from Entwined by Heather Dixon. Hopefully their chemistry is still good!

**Thank you guys so much. Review to let me know what you think?**


	14. My Hope, My Tired Soul

**So sorry this is late, but I really couldn't get a handle on this chapter until tonight. I felt like some things needed to be wrapped up before I move to the next phase of the story, so I added this short(ish) chapter. I'm going to try and update again this weekend, but I'm not promising anything. It all depends on how I'm feeling, as I had to get stitches in my foot this morning. The numbness of today may well turn into the discomfort of tomorrow. Hope this finds you all well, and I hope you like it!**

**Thanks for reading, reviewing, favoriting, and alerting! All very good verbs, in my opinion. Please continue to do so!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**

* * *

"Cato!"

At the sound of a voice calling his name, Cato turned his head to seek out the owner. Bobbing through the mass of people was Talia, who was finally home from the Capitol and had just finished getting formal congratulations from the mayor. She had been in high demand for almost an hour, but she had managed to escape.

"Welcome back!" He reached out to clap her on the back, but withdrew his hand when she flinched away from him. "I see they set you free."

"For now," she agreed, looking peeved. "I've been on this ridiculous schedule ever since the Reaping. All I want to do is sleep."

"Not tonight, you aren't. The Academy is throwing its usual party for the Victor." He watched her face fall tangibly. "Come on, you can't miss it."

"I'll stay for the replay of the Games, but that's it," she warned, narrowing her eyes at him. "And don't even think about forcing me to be around Jacob."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Cato said, laughing. "I'll see you tonight."

"Whatever." She waved her hand around distractedly, moving on to speak with another of her friends. Talia let the girl hug her, which was a bit of a blow to Cato.

"She still hates me, huh?" Jacob asked, appearing behind Cato's left shoulder. "Figures. She was always good at holding grudges."

"You were her best friend, and you told her she was as good as dead." Cato turned to look at his friend, who looked unapologetic. "Maybe you should try to talk to her."

Jacob laughed heartily and shook his head. "Yeah, I'll do that. In the meantime, you should go _talk_ to Natalie. She's really getting tired of your girlfriend."

"Natalie is insane," Cato pointed out. "But I'll see what she wants."

"Good luck, man. I wouldn't want to be you." Jacob strode off in the direction of the Justice Building, at the base of which sat his parents.

Cato set out to find Natalie, wishing he didn't have to. The situation with Azalea was confusing enough without adding in his bloodthirsty training partner. She had always been a little possessive of his time, especially when he was dating someone, but he never got used to it. He found her lounging by the sweets shop, her long legs crossed at the ankle as she licked at an ice cream cone.

"Jacob said I should come see you," Cato said bluntly, folding his arms.

"Did he?" she asked lightly, taking another lick. "That was good of him. I wanted to talk to you about getting back on a training schedule now that the Games are over."

"We'll be doing the usual Academy stuff." He glanced up at the clock above the Justice Building, remembering that he had agreed to meet Azalea in less than half an hour. "What kind of planning does that need?"

"I thought we could do some outside training. You're there late every day anyway." She stood up and held the remainder of her cone out to him. "Ice cream?"

"No thanks." He grimaced, trying to figure out a way to extricate himself without causing a scene. "Look, Natalie, I'm not really interested in extra training. I work with Azalea outside of instructional time."

Natalie laughed. "Oh, please, Cato. Like she can keep up with you. Don't you think your time would be better spent with me? We are going into the Games together, after all."

"Maybe," he muttered, too low for her to hear. More audibly, he asserted, "I'm not interested."

Natalie's eyes narrowed sharply, morphing her innocuous features into the mask of distaste he saw while they trained. The ice cream dropped, forgotten, to the pavement and splattered her shoes. "I can make her life hell, you realize. I'll fight her every chance I get."

Cato kept his face calm, stepping close to her and looking down into her eyes. "Don't threaten me. You'll regret it."

With that, he turned on his heel and stalked toward Quarryman's Row, which was the only place in District 2 Natalie refused to enter. If there hadn't been rules about outside fighting, he would have knocked her out. As it was, he felt better about returning to regular training the next day. Any chance to strike at Natalie would be welcome.

When he reached Azalea's house, he leapt up the stairs and knocked quickly on the door. Clove answered, looking him up and down before ushering him wordlessly inside. He followed her arm, which pointed to the room she and Azalea shared. Azalea was sitting on her bed, combing out her wet hair and reading a tattered book.

As he entered, she looked up and grinned. "Hey, you're early!"

"Yeah," he replied, leaning against the doorframe.

"Well, what happened? How was it?" Azalea gathered her hair over one shoulder and twisted until it fell in one long, dark rope. Cato couldn't help but notice how the darker color changed her face and eyes.

"Talia is good. She doesn't want to go to the party tonight, but I think I convinced her." He moved further into the room, a little hesitant to sit on Clove's bed. Azalea moved over, letting him have the space at the end of her bed, and he felt a bit embarrassed. "The welcome was a little long."

"They always are." She smiled encouragingly, wondering why he looked so grim. "What's wrong, Cato?"

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head. "It's just Natalie being Natalie."

Azalea's eyebrows drew together instantly. "I know she's your partner and everything, but I really don't like her."

"If it makes you feel better, the feeling is mutual." Cato sighed, rubbing at his forehead. "I think you should start watching out for her, just in case."

Azalea nodded, studying the dark circles beneath Cato's eyes. He looked tired, even more so than during the Games. She hoped it was just the lack of sleep catching up with him and not more problems with his father.

"So, what did you want to talk about?" he asked, trying to change the subject. "You wanted me to come over before the party."

Azalea glanced into the living room, where Clove was sitting in front of the television with a tall glass of water, and got up to close the door. Clove shot her a glare when she noticed what she was doing, but she mercifully declined to comment.

"I wanted to talk about what happened a few days ago," she said, sitting across from him. "I didn't want to do it until Talia got home, but she's back now. I really need to know what that meant."

Cato squirmed uncomfortably, picking at a piece of loose thread on his jeans. "What do you think it meant?"

She shook her head, throwing up a hand. "Oh no, we're not playing the guessing game. It's been nagging at me since it happened. We were okay after, but I don't want it to get weird."

"Why would it?" he asked, looking up at her.

"You have a slight tendency to avoid me when you think you've done something embarrassing," she replied, nudging him with her foot. "I don't like it when you do that."

Cato glanced up at her, eyebrows raised a fraction. "I couldn't tell."

She pursed her lips at his dry response and leaned forward, bracing herself on the mattress. "I like being friends with you, Cato. If that's all you want, then I'm okay with it. Just tell me."

He frowned, considering what she was saying for a moment. All he could think about since the kiss, besides Talia's return, was Azalea. If there was one thing he wanted, it wasn't going back to being just friends with her.

Instead of trying, and possibly failing, to word a proper response, Cato suppressed a growl of frustration and took her face in his hands. Before she could react, he was kissing her, more forcefully than the first time. She nearly fell back, catching herself by grabbing his arms and pulling him closer. His fingers were in her hair, grasping at the back of her head, brushing against her ears. Every sense was full of him, gathering whatever they could to make up a side of Cato that Azalea had failed to notice. Despite the rough insistence of his lips, his hands were gentle and undemanding.

Pulling away, Cato leaned his forehead against Azalea's. They quietly stared into each other's eyes, waiting until their breathing had returned to normal. A slow smile crept across Azalea's face, soon mirrored on Cato's, but she didn't laugh.

* * *

Later that evening, just as the sun had dipped below the horizon, Azalea let Cato guide her into the Academy gym with a hand at the small of her back. Far from being transformed, the gym looked as it always did, save for the tables lined up at the far end of the room. The machines had been consolidated but not removed, providing an odd seating option for the few trainees who were not gathered around Talia. The guest of honor was standing behind one of the food tables, absently eating pieces of chocolate as trainees she had never spoken to recounted tales of her bravery and finesse.

"…and then you stabbed her! Right under the car. Man, the blood was everywhere!" a twelve-year-old cried, pumping his fist into the air. The friends who were scattered around him agreed eagerly, hoping to catch any bit of conversation Talia was willing to put forth.

Grimacing, Talia picked a bit of almond off the tablecloth and sucked her teeth. "Yeah, I remember it going something like that. Now, if you'll excuse me…"

She walked off, leaving the kids looking crestfallen in her wake. It didn't take long for another group to corner her, however, so Cato decided to go save her. Azalea followed quietly behind him, not wanting to be at the party any more than Talia did. It was bad enough that Clove had bailed, but having to spend the night talking with Cato's friends and making nice would be torture.

"Fuck off," Cato snapped, towering over the group of third year trainees. One of them, another girl from Quarryman's Row, sneered at him. His pupils dilated, pulsing along with the vein in his neck, and he physically picked the girl up and tossed her away from him. At this display of brute strength, the others in the group scattered, leaving a bedraggled Talia and an astonished Azalea.

"You have all the subtlety of a Capitol citizen in District 10," Talia drawled. "Thanks, though."

Cato shrugged, turning around to pull Azalea from behind him. "Talia, you remember Azalea. She's in my year."

"I distinctly remember _not_ remembering you, actually." Talia narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing Azalea's pale face. "Are you that girl who almost drowned your first year?"

"No, that was Valencia," Azalea replied, shaking her head.

"Oh. Then no, I don't." She smiled wanly and grabbed a glass of punch from a nearby table. "Cheers!"

Talia knocked the drink back in one swig like it was alcohol and tossed the cup back onto the table. Azalea was a bit taken aback, but she could only guess at what Talia had been through. The cameras only caught so much of the tributes' pain, though not for a lack of trying. The Capitol would never be able to film the emotional toll taken, the aftermath of all the bloodshed.

"Charming as ever," Cato quipped, grinning. "How'd you manage to pull all that bullshit with Caesar, huh?"

"I'm an excellent actress, I'll have you know." She pulled a face, taking a small bow. "Honestly, I'm considering making it my talent."

"I don't think that counts."

"If flower arranging is a talent, so is bullshitting. I'll make it work." Talia frowned suddenly, looking at something over Cato's shoulder. "Jacob's sliming his way over here. If you don't mind, I'm going to make myself disappear."

"Welcome back!" Azalea called lamely, watching Talia's fast-retreating form dodge the crowds. "She's _not_ happy."

"Yeah, well, she has a few good reasons," Cato replied, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She blushed, feeling like everyone was watching them, and inadvertently took a step away from his side. Cato glanced down at her, unable to comment before Jacob arrived.

"I see my advice didn't mean very much," he said, smirking. "Though, to be fair, yours is being ignored, too."

"Good to know, Jake," Cato said coolly. "Are you enjoying the party?"

"I will be, once Natalie gets here with a bottle of her dad's booze." Jacob shoved his hands into his pockets and cast around for the girl in question. "She and Laine went to get it over an hour ago."

Azalea's eyebrows drew together. "Aren't you afraid of getting caught?"

Jacob grinned down at her, shaking his head. "My dearest Azalea, you must have me confused with your boyfriend. See, I _have_ no fear, unlike this big marshmallow."

Azalea was about to bite out a sharp retort, but Cato just laughed. "You're a first-class dick, Jake. I hope you have a big-ass hangover tomorrow."

"One can only dream." Jacob gave a small, two-fingered salute and walked off, whistling an ancient drinking tune under his breath.

"Well, you were callous about all that," Azalea said, looking up at Cato in slight astonishment.

"What do I care if they get drunk? Last time Laine got tipsy, she cried until she passed out. They're pretty harmless."

"I just figured, you know, considering…"

"My dad?" Cato finished for her, arching an eyebrow. "You think he affects me that much?"

She shrugged, feeling bad for bringing it up in the first place. "Never mind. I'm going to get some food; do you want some?"

He shook his head, watching her grab a plate and move along the buffet. Every delicacy they were never allowed was spread out along three banquet tables, steaming in pots and chilling on synthetic ice that would never melt. Because the Academy was funded by past Victors, parties were always lavish affairs. Separate from the event during the Victory Tour, this was a private celebration for the trainees who sacrificed themselves for the honor of the District.

Azalea spooned a helping of a warm pasta dish onto her plate, neck and face burning in shame. It didn't sit well with her that Cato's friends were about to go off and get drunk, but she mostly didn't want anything to happen. A lack of inhibitions was the last thing Natalie needed. She planned on leaving before they had a chance to be too intoxicated.

Once she had gathered her food, she joined Cato on one of the leg presses. Despite his insistence that he didn't want food, the first thing he did when she sat down was steal a bite of her pasta. She scowled, guarding the penne with her fork, and licked some sauce from her finger.

"This is mine, you know," she said, pushing him with her shoulder. "If I have to endure an hour of speeches and war stories, I'm going to need some food on my stomach."

"Oh, absolutely, I agree," he replied, nodding seriously while sneaking another noodle. "That's good, by the way."

"I wouldn't know," she deadpanned. "Watch it, or I'll spear you with my fork."

"Very deadly. Maybe that will be the weapon of choice next Games." He smirked, dodging her halfhearted attempt at a kick. "You really should eat something. Someone's being a _little_ grumpy."

Azalea took a bite of pasta, ignoring him the moment it touched her tongue. She had forgotten how incredible food could be. The richness of the sauce and the perfect consistency of the noodle were almost as overwhelming as the feeling of warm food hitting her stomach. It was easy to forget that she didn't want to be there when everything tasted so fantastic.

When she had finished her main dish, she split her chocolate with Cato. He popped it into his mouth and chewed quickly, but she let it melt away on her tongue. It was only on very special occasions that they got a dessert that featured chocolate. Baked goods were more common, but still quite rare among the quarrymen and their families.

"Enjoy that?" Cato asked, smiling.

"It was almost worth the price of admission," she replied, sucking some chocolate from her thumb. "I might be able to tolerate Thaddeus' grandfather story for the thousandth time."

"He does tell that every year, doesn't he?"

"And whenever he has a spare moment," Azalea added, rolling her eyes. They laughed, turning to the banquet tables when Romulus stepped up and tapped on a microphone.

"On behalf of the Academy, I would like to congratulate our Victor. Talia, would you please join me?" He held out a hand, guiding her to stand beside him. "We are very proud of your accomplishment and appreciate the great honor you have done the District. Would you like to say a few words?"

Talia managed to quirk one corner of her mouth. "I wouldn't be standing here today if it weren't for the training the Academy has given me. Thank you all for your wonderful support, and I hope one of you will be standing in my place next year."

Through a smattering of applause, Azalea turned to Cato and muttered, "She wasn't kidding about the bullshitting."

"No," he agreed, laughing. "I guess it is a talent."

Talia shrank back into the shadows, allowing Romulus to regain the microphone. He went on about all the past Victors, reminding them which had come from the Academy, and settled into the dry monotone he maintained throughout the year. Everyone sank further into their seats, fighting to keep their attention on the Head Instructor.

"Enjoy this while it lasts," Cato whispered, leaning close to Azalea. "Tomorrow, it's back to normal."

"What's normal around here?" she asked wryly.

"Training, blood, and broken bones." He poked her in the side, watching her squirm. "Get ready for it, Az."

* * *

**Okay, so the next chapter will be about nine/ten months after this. Please review! I'd love some feedback.**

**Review replies:**

_bbymojo: _Thank you! As for the reactions, Cato isn't really a talker ;) Get your Azalea/Cato goodness while you can! No spoilers here!

_anon:_ The sheer number of reviews you leave me is astounding! Thank you so much for being so invested in this story. I do apologize for being late, but I wanted to make this chapter better than it was. I hope you like it, and maybe this fixes the kiss?

_Nel:_ You are way ahead of me! Don't go figuring out the story before I do! Haha, no worries, Talia will definitely be featured in the rest of the story. Hopefully this gives you a bit of insight into how she'll be after the Games. I really appreciate your review, and thank you!

_hazu23:_ Thank you! I hope this kiss is just as good.

_StardustIsMagic:_ Ah, thank you! I'm glad to know it worked, because I always feel a little awkward with the first one. I hope you like this chapter, and thank you for reviewing! Good luck with prom and the exam, and update soon! I must know how Faith deals with the assassination squad!

_DraggonflyMaiden:_ Thank you! Hope you like this one as well.

_PeppermintAmortentia:_ You got another kiss! Thanks so much for the review :)

_Franlucylucci:_ I'll try! Thanks for all your support!

_MayAngelsLeadYouIn:_ Wow, thank you! I don't know about brilliant, but I figured it wasn't done too often. I'm glad I managed to distract you!

_maddielala56:_ Thank you! Hope you continue to enjoy!

**There you have it, guys! I hope I'm not losing some of you; I promise it picks up in a big way next chapter. Reviews are lovely!**


	15. Something Left Behind or Never Found

**On one hand, it's not the weekend, but on the other, it's not Tuesday! Good and bad, I suppose. There isn't really much preface to this one, so I'll just send you right into it!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**

* * *

**Nine Months Later**

Azalea let out a heavy breath, ducking to the right just in time to avoid Cato's fist. They had been sparring for nearly an hour, going around and around the gym in a breathless whirl of limbs and blades. Cato had abandoned his knives early on, dropping them at the edge of the mat and grabbing Azalea's wrists as she slashed at him. She had grunted in pain, fighting until she got a hand free, and had thrust her leg up between them.

"Ready to give up?" Cato asked, smirking and panting slightly.

Azalea shook her head, blowing a stray bit of hair away from her face and jabbing a closed fist into Cato's side. He doubled over, trapping her hand against him, and twisted her arm painfully. She bent with him, looking into his flushed face as they hesitated in a convoluted position, and reached up with her free hand to gouge his eye. Putting pressure on his eyelid, she gritted her teeth and yanked until her arm came free.

As she was coming out of her backbend, Cato let out a muted scream of frustration and slammed an arm across her chest. She fell to the mats coughing in pain and barely managed to roll out of the way of his booted foot. He pinned her quickly, ignoring her attempts to knee him in the groin, and sat back. She glared up at him, struggling to breathe, and flinched away as he brought his fist down next to her head.

"That brings the score to me: five, you: one," Cato said, moving his face close to hers.

"You cheat," Azalea replied evenly, extricating her arms and trying to sit up. He held her down for a few more moments, waiting. She rolled her eyes and leaned up to press a quick kiss against his lips. "I get it; you won. Bravo. What are you teaching me now, how to win poorly?"

"No," he said, smirking. "I'm teaching you how to lose like a champ."

"Get off." She swatted at him fondly, wrinkling her nose. "You smell awful."

"You like it." Cato pushed himself up and extended a hand to her. She let him haul her to her feet and wiped a bit of blood off her arm.

Wordlessly, they walked to the edge of the mats to perform their usual post-training ritual. Cato picked up the first aid kit and unwrapped a bit of gauze, pressing the thin square to Azalea's right shoulder to staunch the flow of blood. She, in turn, took an ice pack and activated it by rolling it between her hands. This she held against Cato's cheek, which had begun to bruise and swell after her knife had dug in more deeply than she had planned. After the swelling went down a bit, she would have to stitch it closed to make sure it healed properly.

"Sorry about your face," she said, moving the ice pack a little and inspecting the wound. "It won't scar too badly, though."

"It's okay, I don't mind," he replied, taking the gauze off her shoulder. "Is a bandage okay, or do you want a gauze wrap?"

"Just a bandage." Azalea grimaced as he cleaned the wound with antiseptic and put on the adhesive bandage. "What are we going to do about the bruises?"

Most of them are under our clothes. We can hide them, I think." Cato lifted his shirt and looked objectively at the large bruise forming on his ribs. "Good fight today, Az. I think you're finally getting it."

"Oh, well I hope so," she replied sarcastically. "It's been nearly a year; if I'm not getting it now, there's something wrong."

"I'm just that good of an instructor." Cato grinned, laughing as she smacked him lightly across the chest.

"Yeah, well your brother and Clove have been helping out, too," Azalea reminded him. "And who says I'm not just a great student?"

"Everyone."

"Cato! I'm doing a lot better. I even show up for morning sessions." She caught his skeptical expression and flushed. "Okay, most of the time."

Cato smirked and nodded in acquiescence. "It might be time for you to challenge someone. Time is running out before exams, and you need to see how you measure up. How about next Friday?"

"I don't think so," Azalea replied, shaking her head furiously. "I'd make a mistake and end up looking like an idiot. I've only won two-thirds of my matches since my ankle healed."

"You fight every sparring day and don't make a fool of yourself. No one expects you to beat all the older trainees," he pointed out. "Challenge days only come along every once in a while, so you'd better take advantage of it. If not, I have a feeling Natalie is going to come after you."

Azalea slumped against the wall, exhausted just thinking about it. She had been training with Cato for nine months, working on her endurance, weapons skills, and hand-to-hand combat, but she didn't feel ready to take on Natalie just yet. The girl had been dogging her every move during Academy hours, going to the same training stations and using every opportunity imaginable to make her life more difficult. It had taken every ounce of persuasion she could muster to keep Cato from exploding, but Azalea had managed. For appearances, they didn't train together during regular hours, but Cato often tried to pair with her anyway.

"I'll consider it, if I really have to," Azalea said finally. "But right now, I need to stitch up that cheek of yours. Are you up for it?"

He nodded, removing the ice pack and letting her dab at the blood that had congealed on his skin. When she was finished, she took the thin metal wire from the first aid kit and found the end with the needle attached. She had given stitches to Cato before, but it always made her stomach churn to think of passing the thread through his skin. Occasionally she had nightmares of doing the stitches the wrong way, or having them done incorrectly on her. That had never happened before she had started training with Cato, but she supposed it was a hazard of the occupation.

"Do you need some painkillers?" she asked, glancing up at him.

"No, just do it," he replied stiffly.

"Really, I can give you a bit of morphling. There's a syringe of it in here."

"It's fine," Cato insisted. "Get it over with."

Azalea squeezed his hand once before focusing on closing his wound. The first pass was the hardest, but she managed to get into the rhythm of it quickly. Soon, he had three thin stitches across his left cheekbone. She wiped some lubricating gel over them with a swab before covering the entire wound with a bandage.

Throughout the process, Cato had been clenching his jaw painfully and trying not to make a sound. He had managed to keep himself quiet, though he couldn't really claim to have been calm. Azalea had done the job quickly and efficiently, for which he was grateful, but he resented having to get stitches in the first place. Had they been sparring during Academy hours, one of the nurses would have spread some sort of high-tech salve across his face and sent him home.

"Next time you train with knives, you can fight Clove," he said, moving his face a bit to see if the stitches pulled. She had done a good job, though, and nothing hurt.

"Then I'll be the one with new scars all over my face," Azalea argued. "Do you really want to be indirectly responsible for ruining this perfection?"

"My confidence is rubbing off on you, but you're bordering on conceited," Cato told her affectionately. "I'm going to have to open both doors to get your head outside."

"As if. You're a horrible person." She chuckled at his expression.

"Just bear in mind, I created you and I can take you down." He tried to look very serious, but only managed to keep his smile contained for a few moments.

"I'll try to remember that," Azalea said with a smile, brushing her fingers over his uninjured cheek as she stood. "We'd better be going if we want to squeeze a run in before dinner."

"I think you've gotten carried away," Cato muttered, following her through the doors of the gym.

* * *

Azalea and Cato came to a stop in front of Marcus' house nearly a half hour later. Neither seemed to be winded, but Azalea was holding her chest like it pained her. She glared over at Cato, who was knocking on the door, and realized that he was oblivious.

"That last stunt really hurt, you know," she grumbled, rubbing at her sternum. "Who slams someone to the ground like that?"

"I do," Cato said bluntly. He pointed to his cheek, reminding her that she had given him another scar to add to the collection that had sprung up on his body over the years. "I think we're even, Az."

Just then, the door opened and revealed Marcus, who looked tired but happy to see them. He ushered them in, not bothering to comment on their disheveled state, and followed them into the kitchen. Diana was already there, serving a dark stew that would be their dinner. She grinned at them as they sat, ladling a larger helping into Cato's bowl.

"How'd it go?" Diana asked, putting the pot in the center of the table and taking her place beside Marcus. "Who won?"

"Cato, of course," Azalea replied grudgingly. "Doesn't he always?"

"No, you beat him last month," Diana reminded her happily. "Remember? He was grumpy for an entire week afterward."

"No I wasn't," Cato argued, tossing a breadcrumb at her.

"You don't handle being beaten very well, kid." Marcus smiled slightly, spreading his napkin over his lap. "Never have. It runs in the family."

"Whatever, let's just eat." Cato grabbed his spoon and started shoveling the stew into his mouth. Azalea laughed quietly, shaking her head and taking a sip of her own dinner.

"This is great, Diana," she said, eyes wide. "Where did you learn to make this?"

"My mom taught me a few years ago," Diana replied proudly.

"You learned young." Azalea took a bite of her piece of bread and swallowed thickly, wishing their District's bread hadn't been so tough. She washed it down with some water and looked around the table, half wanting her sister to be there with them.

Seeming to read her thoughts, Marcus looked up. "Where's Clove today?"

"She decided to stay home and eat with our father."

Azalea looked down, not mentioning that Clove had refused to sit through another meal with Cato. Two days earlier, Cato and Clove had decided to spar again for the first time in nearly two years. It had taken almost an hour, but Cato had finally beaten her by pinning her with a sword at her throat. She was, once again, resentful.

"That's too bad. I promised to teach her a bit with the sickle."

"You never taught me!" Cato exclaimed disbelievingly. "You said you didn't want to pick one up again."

"You're a sword man, Cato," Marcus explained. "You don't do well with light weapons."

"Well no, not if you won't teach me how to use them." Cato scowled down at his food, having lost a bit of his appetite. "I can't believe you're going to help the demon."

"That isn't very fair," Diana chimed in, wiping at her mouth daintily. "You should teach Cato."

"Maybe you could teach all three of us," Azalea offered, trying to smooth the frayed nerves all around her. "That way we'll all have a new weapon to try out. I've always been interested in what a sickle can do, but no one at the Academy knows how to use one well enough to have a station with it."

Marcus rubbed a hand down his face, looking much older than his twenty three years. "I guess I could do that. It would have to be on Sunday, though, and you'll need to come here."

"That'll be fine." Azalea shot a glare at Cato, silently instructing him not to comment any further. "I'll tell Clove. I'm sure she'll be thrilled."

"Thanks, gorgeous," Marcus said, smiling a bit more sincerely.

Azalea smiled in return, and they finished out their meal in relative silence. It was a pleasant affair without being too taxing, which was exactly what Cato and Azalea had needed after their long day of training. It also served to lessen the amount of time Cato and Diana would have to spend at home before darkness fell.

When everyone was finished, they began to say their goodbyes. Azalea kissed Marcus on the cheek and thanked him for having them over, to which he replied with a shrug and a quick hug. Diana hugged her oldest brother tightly, pressing the end of the loaf of bread into his hands and making sure he knew how to reheat the stew. Cato, on the other hand, thumped his brother on the back and muttered something about the next week.

"Have a good night, Marcus," Azalea called over her shoulder, letting Cato propel her out into the dusk. Diana followed them quietly, not seeming to be in any hurry to get back to her house.

"See you later," Marcus called back, lifting a hand.

* * *

After Cato had dropped her off at her house and kissed her goodnight, Azalea sat in the living room and watched a Capitol program with her father. Clove was already in their room, but Titus had stayed in the main part of the house to wait for his eldest daughter. He was unaware that Cato and Azalea had taken their relationship to a higher level, but he was still able to share his thoughts on their friendship.

"How was the boy?" he grunted, looking over at her.

"Cato is fine. We had dinner at his brother's house." She met his gaze challengingly. "You like Marcus; you said so yourself."

"I do," Titus agreed, nodding thoughtfully. "Wish he'd stuck around long enough to teach his younger brother how to be civilized, though."

"Dad, Cato isn't as bad as you make him out to be," Azalea argued, turning down the television during a commercial. "I know you've heard stories about him from the other quarrymen, but he's a good person. He doesn't do anything the other Academy students don't."

Titus took a sip of water and narrowed his eyes at the screen in front of him. "There's just something about him that I don't like, Azalea, and I think you'd do well to listen to me."

"With all due respect, Daddy, I can make up my own mind." She turned the television back up and sank into the couch to watch the remaining half hour of the program. Titus did the same, watching his daughter out of the corner of his eye and wondering when she had grown up without him noticing.

When the program had ended and Titus had retreated to his room, Azalea joined Clove in their bedroom. The younger girl was, as usual, sharpening her arsenal of knives and humming a low tune to herself. Upon seeing her older sister, Clove sat up and folded her legs beneath her.

"Did Marcus say anything about me?" Clove asked, ignoring the fresh bruises on Azalea's chest and back as she got ready for bed.

"Hey, Clove. Training was great, thank you for asking. We all missed you at dinner tonight, but Diana made a great pot of stew. You would have liked it," Azalea said, pulling her pajama shirt over her head with a bit of difficulty. Clove looked at her blankly, waiting for the answer to her question. "He said he would have to teach you how to use the sickle another time."

Clove nodded slowly, mulling it over, and then glanced up. "Does your shoulder hurt?"

"No, it's just a graze," Azalea replied, smiling wanly. "Thanks for asking, though. Really."

Clove waved her off. "We didn't have any pain medicine anyway."

"Oh, comforting," Azalea said, smirking. "How was dinner with Dad? He seemed pretty quiet."

"We're perfectly capable of doing something without a long conversation," Clove said pointedly. "You're the one who seems to think it's necessary to speak."

"Excuse me for wanting to feel more comfortable at my own dinner table." Azalea rolled her eyes and sighed tiredly. "Really, Clove, you and Dad could go a year without speaking to each other. One of you could die and the other would only know when the body started to smell."

"You paint a lovely picture of our family dynamic," Clove deadpanned. "Maybe Dad and I can communicate without speech."

"I didn't know I was in the presence of a telepath," Azalea quipped.

"Oh, shut up. At least I'm not dating a monster who sends me home with fresh bruises all the time." Clove picked up a knife and began absently going through all the different grips and holds. "You and I should start sparring again."

"You're no easier on me than he is." Azalea rolled up a pant leg and displayed an ugly, pink scar. "That's what happened the last time we fought."

"The knife slipped," Clove said, shrugging indifferently.

"So what you're saying is that it's okay for my sister to hurt me, but not Cato." Azalea narrowed her eyes. "You're both doing it for training purposes."

"We've been through this before. I'm allowed to fight you, but no one else is." Clove let the knife fly, seeing it quiver in the opposite wall. "Pretty simple."

"If I didn't love you so much, I would have to kill you," Azalea sighed. Clove made a face, looking like she might vomit, and went to retrieve the knife.

"Save the mushy crap for your boyfriend," she snapped. "It grosses me out."

"I know you secretly like it," Azalea said slyly, slipping under the covers. "Goodnight, sister dear."

"Let's see if you wake up tomorrow," Clove replied, in the same singsong tone.

* * *

**Well, there you go. They're training and dating and all that good stuff. I like to think of this as the beginning of Part II, which is more action-y and exciting than the first, in a way. I thank you all for reading and being so kind. **

**Review replies:**

_PeppermintAmortentia:_ Thanks very much, my foot is doing much better now. I hope you continue to enjoy the story!

_anon:_ No worries, more Cato/Clove wars are on their way. I'm glad you like Talia and Jacob, even though they're not super nice and welcoming. Sorry for the two short(ish) chapters in a row and the lack of weekend updates, but I hope this satisfies your Cato/Azalea cravings for another few days. Thank you so much for reading!

_bbymojo:_ Yes, they are indeed a couple. I'm glad Cato seems to be generally in character for you. Hope you enjoy!

_hazu23:_ I'm glad! Hopefully you will continue to enjoy.

_DraggonflyMaiden:_ I can't wait to show you the rest of the story! Hope it lives up to your expectations!

_fortes fortuna iuvat:_ Oh, wow, thank you so much. As someone who really loves your stories, I really appreciate you reading and reviewing for my story. Thank you for the compliments on Azalea, the Academy, and my grammar! I hope this chapter lives up to that, and thank you again. I'm definitely looking forward to your next update, whenever that might be.

**Thank you everyone, and please leave me some reviews! Till next time...**


	16. Convince Me That I'm Not Drowning

**I do realize how awful I've been, and for that I am sorry! A serious bout of writer's block has hit, and just this one chapter threatened to kill me. Unfortunately, I can't promise that the next update will be coming in a timely manner. It might, it might not. I apologize for leaving you guys hanging for like three weeks, but I've been pretty down about this story lately. Hopefully this chapter isn't awful.**

* * *

Looking in the mirror, Azalea barely recognized the girl staring back at her. Where she had once been merely toned or a little curvy, there was now solid muscle. Her face was thinner, cheekbones a little more prominent, and she could see a new hardness in her expressions. Everything about her had changed in under a year. Her time with Cato had been well spent, but she couldn't help but feel like she had lost the person she had been before.

Despite her sour feelings toward being a tribute and all that entailed, Azalea found herself fighting harder for the top spot in the year. According to a recent ranking, she had surpassed Octavia and was only ten points behind Natalie. She had been so elated at the news that she hadn't ignored early morning sessions for nearly a month. Cato, on the other hand, just took it as a sign that she needed to work harder. He, of course, was still on top and planning to keep it that way.

The vast improvement on her part had not gone unnoticed by the Academy staff. Thaddeus, their age division's main instructor, had taken to forcing her to go first in drills and pairing her up with the more difficult male trainees. It helped her develop strategies for different fighting styles, but sometimes Azalea wished she could go back to the comfortable anonymity of the previous year. The slight drowning sensation brought on by too many people knowing her name and crowding around her threatened to take over on some occasions.

Such as the Friday on which Azalea was studying her slim figure in the mirror.

It was Challenge Day, the day she had been dreading for weeks. Cato had finally convinced her to challenge someone, using the threat of Natalie against her over and over. She had decided to challenge Laine, Jacob's usual partner. Her fighting style was simple and easy to counter, though she was the strongest of the eighteen-year-old girls that year. Azalea might not have been able to beat the older male trainees, but she was confident that she could take Laine. It was a bold move that could make or break her reputation. A match against Laine might get her the points she needed to surpass Natalie.

Instead of eating breakfast, Azalea decided to drink a glass of water and then head to the Academy early. The chances of her being able to challenge Laine before Natalie struck were slim, so she wanted to be at the front of the queue. She met up with Cato at the crest of the hill, giving him a quick hug before returning to her previous jittery state. Her hands shook with nerves and excitement, and she was forced to clench them into fists to prevent herself from breaking into a cold sweat.

The minutes that led up to the beginning of the challenges were torturous, consisting of long speeches by the instructors and the anxious pacing of the fifty or more trainees. Clove was off among the fifteen-year-olds, her dark head bobbing among them as they gossiped feverishly about the day's matches. Azalea hadn't been able to tempt her into staying close by for moral support.

As she waited in the crowd, Azalea chewed nervously on her thumbnail and tried to listen to Romulus as he laid out the instructions for the day's sparring matches. Cato stood by her side, his grip on her hand more restrictive than reassuring. He had his own fight lined up that day, so she knew she would be on her own. They had gone over strategy and possible outcomes for days, sparring with Marcus and Clove that weekend after a lesson with the sickles. Azalea knew she was ready, but she still could not rid herself of the gnawing feeling in her stomach.

"Relax, Az," Cato said quietly, looking down at her. "Stop biting your nails."

"I'm not," she mumbled, speaking around the thumbnail that was permanently inserted between her teeth. "Everything is fine."

He shrugged, dropping her hand, and squeezed her shoulder once for support. She appreciated his faith, but he had always been confident. She, on the other hand, was just gaining a bit of self-esteem and wanted to keep it that way.

As soon as the instructors scattered themselves around the room, the floor was open for challenges. They would only be open for two hours before lunch and three hours after, which was a misleading amount of time. Bouts could last for up to forty-five minutes and weapons were chosen by the challenge recipient. Azalea had attended several challenge days that consisted of fewer than eight matches, which often proved to be trying for the trainees who weren't able to fight.

Azalea leaned over to say something to Cato, noticing as she looked up that he was no longer by her side. It didn't take her long to find him, as he was standing in the middle of the mats with a smug smirk on his face. She sighed and shook her head, knowing what he was about to do, and cast around for her sister. Once she found Clove, Azalea went over to stand with her and wait for the grudge match to begin.

Cato had decided to challenge Elias, a tall, lean boy with dirty blond hair and a wicked scar across his chest. He had recently taken to needling Cato about everything from Azalea to his older brother. Though most people knew about the strained relationship between Marcus and Lucius, it had become a taboo topic in both the quarries and the Academy. Cato was going to take this opportunity to beat Elias to a pulp while simultaneously sending a warning to the other trainees.

"Your boyfriend is about to start a pissing match," Clove commented, arching a thin eyebrow.

"What can I say?" Azalea laughed, unable to hide her amusement at Cato's deadly expression as he stated his challenge and waited for Elias to choose a weapon.

Elias chose the spear, obviously hoping to stay as far away from Cato as possible. The trainees pressed in closer to the mats as the instructors handed out the spears and gave quick instructions to each boy. Azalea pushed to the front of the queue, Clove following close behind, and felt a heady rush of adrenaline crash through her. In spite of her disdain for tribute life, Azalea had found herself becoming more invested in the fights and the mob mentality of it all.

As the instructors faded into the crowd, the two boys circled each other, spears held at the ready. Romulus gave the command to begin from somewhere in the back of the room, his voice echoing throughout the quiet gym. The moment Elias made his first move, the trainees erupted in a wild roar of encouragement, eager for blood. Azalea held her breath and waited to see what Cato would do.

Cato hung back, letting Elias take the first jab, and tilted his head to the left to avoid the sharp spear point. The metal whooshed past his ear, ruffling his hair as he knocked his spear shaft into that of Elias. They were now facing off, spears crossed, and Cato narrowed his eyes on the exact spot he planned to cut first. The space between Elias' eyebrow and hairline was perfect, just visible enough that everyone could see the blood. In mere seconds, Cato had pushed Elias' spear down and slashed at his face in a quick motion. The skin opened and let loose a thin drip of blood, eliciting a cheer from the crowd and a grimace from his opponent.

Elias let out a disgruntled scoff, bringing his spear back up and advancing on Cato like a Roman solider trying to hold the line. He jabbed at Cato's stomach, barely making a small hole in his training uniform, and deflected an attack with his forearm. The wood of the spear shafts clacked hollowly amid the clamor of voices that rose to a fever pitch as Cato made another mark on Elias' pale face.

Cato was toying with Elias. Everyone knew he could have bested the boy in under a minute, but he obviously had a point to prove. Azalea could see the determined glint in his eye, a fire fed by years of suppressed anger, and was surprised to find a bit of mania there. Cato was half insane, deriving pleasure from the blood that dripped down his opponent's cheek, and showed no signs of ending the fight early.

Elias, trying valiantly to rally himself, wiped some blood from his face and rubbed it on the thigh of his pants. Spear at the ready, he dodged into the safety of Cato's left side, prepared to attack. Just as he began to thrust the spear, Cato brought up a large, booted foot and slammed it into Elias' chest. The boy was propelled backward onto the mats, head landing just shy of the trainees who stood in a close queue. Before he could pick himself up, Cato had grabbed him by the collar and hammered a fist into his jaw. This was repeated again and again, past the point of unconsciousness, and when he was finished the gym was silent.

Azalea watched as Cato stood and threw his spear down onto the mat and shook out his hand. The knuckles were red with bloody cuts, dripping down his fingers and splattering the floor with patterns of crimson. She wanted to go to him, but everyone around her seemed to be leery of the brutal monster before them. Instead, her eyes followed him as he shouldered his way through the crowd and headed for the exit. Obviously he would observe her fight from elsewhere.

* * *

After the blood had been cleaned and Elias had been transported to the infirmary, the floor was reopened for challenges. Azalea took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come, and stepped out onto the mats. Everyone's eyes were upon her, looking on in judgment and asking who she thought she was. In answer, she held her head high and set her jaw.

"Laine," she called clearly, staring directly at the girl in question.

Laine was standing with Jason and Natalie, obviously not expecting to be challenged, and snapped her head around when she heard her name called. Her careful brown eyes looked Azalea up and down, trying to determine what sort of competition she would be. Behind her, Natalie was murderous, her angel's features drawn together as if she had sucked on a lemon.

"Maces," Laine replied, as if the entire situation was utterly normal.

The instructors moved off to get the weapons, leaving the girls to stare at each other intently. Laine joined Azalea in the center, accepting her melee weapon from Thaddeus, who gave her a small grin before walking away. Azalea got her weapon from Chalia, who looked at her with a mixture of curiosity and doubt. The heads of the maces were blunt, as they were used solely for training purposes, and Azalea was a little saddened by the lack of embellishment. She had trained with spiked maces at Marcus' house, striking at a dummy in his backyard until it had fallen apart. The sensation had been strangely satisfying.

"Why me?" Laine asked, circling Azalea slowly after Romulus had given the signal to begin. "Just out of curiosity."

"Nothing personal," Azalea responded, shrugging. In a fast move, she darted within range and struck. The blow glanced off the side of Laine's mace. "It was either challenge you or wait for Natalie to challenge me."

Laine swung her mace above her head, only to be blocked. Azalea grunted, using her own weapon to deflect Laine's long enough to land a solid right hook on the girl's jaw. Laine stumbled backward, holding her face gingerly, and shot a glare at Azalea. She regained her footing quickly, making a predictable dodge to the right and trying to strike. Azalea ducked, narrowly avoiding a blow to the head, and winced as the hard head of the mace connected with her upper arm.

She was forced to change hands, holding her left arm at an odd angle, and took a moment to collect herself. As Laine was coming in for another attack, Azalea slid to the side and swung her mace around until it connected with Laine's back.

The girl screamed, falling forward to the roar of sixty people, and writhed while clutching her side. Azalea wasted no time, kicking Laine's weapon away from her twisted form, and dropped her own mace in favor of her fists. Tangling her fingers in Laine's hair, Azalea lifted the other girl's head and looked her in the eye. The hatred there was striking, unusual for Laine's easygoing personality, but it only strengthened Azalea's determination. She drew back and backhanded her opponent, letting her head drop back to the mat.

Laine, to her credit, suppressed a moan and rolled over to fight back. She shrieked, kicking out with both legs and managing to connect with Azalea's knee. Azalea cried out, stumbling sideways and lashing out with another slap. Laine's head snapped to the side, blood and spit flying from her mouth.

"Natalie is coming for blood," Laine snarled, glaring at Azalea. "You might beat me, but you won't beat her."

"I look forward," Azalea growled, punctuating her sentence with a punch, "to facing Natalie."

"Cato was _ours_." Laine grabbed Azalea by the neck, flinging her to the ground with her last ounces of strength. "I don't know what you did, but he barely even talks to us anymore."

Laine shifted, fingers grasping at the nearest mace, and tried to regain the upper hand. Azalea rolled, grabbing the weapon first, and heaved it angrily at Laine's outstretched arm. The metal head connected with bone, making a shocking cracking noise, and sunk a half-inch into the skin.

"Fuck you," Azalea spat. She pulled herself back to her feet and kicked at Laine's ribs. The girl convulsed, curling in on herself, and screamed as Azalea's foot connected with her side over and over again. When she was sure Laine would not fight back any longer, Azalea backed off with a gasp and stared down at her beaten opponent.

The screams of the trainees did little to drown out the rush of blood in her ears, coupled with the erratic beat of her heart. What did break through the haze was Cato's hand, brought down on her shoulder and pushing her toward the doors. Looking back over her shoulder, all Azalea could see was Natalie's furious face and Laine's crumpled body being lifted from the floor by the instructors.

* * *

Cato and Azalea sat in their usual copse of trees three hours later. Azalea rested the side of her face against Cato's back, letting him massage her sore hands as they talked. His strong fingers pressed into her palms, relaxing the tendons and separating the bones gently. She reveled in the attention, knowing it was a reward for her defeat of Laine, and smiled softly to herself.

"You were good today," Cato commented, looking at her over his shoulder. "The fight could have been cleaner, but that's my only complaint."

"I was nervous, okay?" Azalea rubbed her cheek against the soft fabric of his shirt, letting a small sigh escape her lips. "She said Natalie is gunning for me."

"We knew that already," Cato replied, squeezing her fingers reassuringly. "You're ready. All you have to do is keep a level head and not let her screw with your mind."

"That's her specialty," Azalea grumbled. "She's vicious."

"Which means you have to be brutal," he said matter-of-factly, letting go of her hands.

"Speaking of which, way to ruin Elias' face," Azalea said, wrapping her arms around his torso. "He needed some surgery, I heard."

"Good. Now he won't cross me again." Cato flexed the muscles in his back, causing Azalea to flinch away, and let out a low growl. "Today felt good, Az."

"I could tell." She ran a finger along the contours of his stomach, tracing the muscle groups and making invisible patterns. "We both forgot ourselves a little bit."

"I guess."

"I feel like I'm starting to become you," Azalea said quietly, fingers stilling. "What if I can't pull back next time? What if I start wanting things that I didn't want before?"

"Don't blame me for doing what you asked," Cato said warningly, turning in her grasp. She loosened her arms, staring up into his face, and grimaced apologetically. "I'm just helping you out, okay? I'm not turning you into anyone."

"Sorry," she said lamely, leaning up to run her nose along the underside of his jaw. "I just don't like being that out of control. It felt like a grudge or something."

"Sometimes fights feel like that." Cato reached up, stilling her face with a hand on her cheek, and moved so they were eye to eye again. "Maybe we should scale back on the training."

"No!" She frowned, shaking her head against his palm, and laced her fingers with his. "I like training with you, Marcus, and Clove. I feel like I'm finally doing what I'm supposed to be doing. Besides, it's getting me ready for exams."

Cato eyed her skeptically, realizing it was useless to disagree, and nodded. "Okay, but don't come around blaming me for your bad days."

"I won't," she promised. "Don't be mad."

"I'm not mad," he replied, shaking his head slowly. "I just know that you're in a different place than you were a year ago. I don't want to make you feel like you have to like this whole training thing for me."

"I'm starting to like it for myself," she said uneasily. "That's what's so weird. I can handle it, though. I_ want_ to handle it."

"Good." Cato leaned down and captured her lips in a searing kiss. She smiled, hands grasping at the back of his neck, and pressed herself closer to him. His arms came around her and pulled her against his chest, wrapped like strong steel bands around her back.

"Don't worry about me," she whispered, pulling back a little to look into his face. "I'm fine."

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**There you have it, an actual update. Again, sorry for the wait. Please, PLEASE review for me! Constructive criticism is very welcome!**

**Review replies:**

_StardustIsMagic:_ Ahh, sorry for not reviewing your last two chapters! I promise I'll review the next. This took a while and might not live up to the rest, but it's here! Thanks for your compliments, they're great! Can't really say about Jacob and Talia, but there is a bit of strain there. We'll have to wait and see about anything serious...

_DraggonflyMaiden:_ I hope you're still reading! Thanks so much, and I always look forward to your reviews!

_hazu23: _You'll have to be satisfied with Laine, but a Natalie battle is definitely coming!

_PeppermintAmortentia:_ Thanks so much! Hope you like this one.

_anon__:_ Sorry this took so long! Really I am. To answer your Clove question, she thinks of Marcus as more of a role model. She looked up to Titus but sort of sees his refusal to enter the Games as weakness. Azalea has never really been what Clove wanted, so Marcus fills that role. No statutory situations here!

_AwaitingHogwartsLetter:_ That's totally fine! I'm just glad you're reviewing at all. Sorry I left you hanging for so long, but I really appreciate you reading! Hope you continue to do so :)

_IamCharliedaughterofPoseidon:_ Thank you so much! I appreciate you reviewing, and I really like your story! Hope to see more soon.

_Valia:_ Sorry! Here's the update, for better or worse!

**Well, there you go, folks. Please review and leave me some feedback! If you're still out there, that is...**


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